


Rex Mortuus Est, Vivat Rex

by paox



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rebellion, Angst, Anti-Monarchal Elements, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, basically: bunch of idiots fight to save the world and also they love each other and r all gay, they're all just fighting for a better life babey!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paox/pseuds/paox
Summary: The King died thirteen years ago, the prince vanishing without a trace, and Niflheim dominates everything. Pockets of resistance still survive, however small, but they come closer to being crushed until the heel of the Gods each day. The Marshal is captured and killed. The Shield is long dead. The Oracle is missing. The New Wave, the largest resistance group in the dying nation, grows smaller and smaller every day.Noctis is young, lost and scared, and he happens to run into a Niff resistance fighter with a missing arm and a sunny smile who changes his life..Or: the crown is a weight colossal enough to crumble the mightiest of bearers, and the world is dark, and noctis is very, very in love.





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: I've messed with the lore a ton with this au! Think of this au as more of a 'what i would have done if id written ffxv' than a canon divergence. there are a ton of different mechanics and backgrounds etc. i hope it works!

**.**

Noctis buries Clarus on a Sunday.

It’s a few days after it all happened. Clarus’ body has been lying under the tree where he died since Thursday, eyes closed and eyelids veined and blue, his sword stuck in the ground beside him. The sky above is a dusty, murky brown, clouds rolling lazily in the evening light as warmth begins to seep from the world, and Noctis digs, and digs, and digs. 

Usually, there would be somebody here to help with something like this. Noctis is no stranger to physical labour - heaven knows life hasn’t ever been easy out here - but Clarus is dead and Cor is simply gone and Noctis digs alone, plunges his shovel into the ground over and over even as the muscles in his shoulders strain and ache. The tree is only a few hundred feet from the hideout, and it’s where Noctis decides Clarus can rest - under the hulking skeleton of a tree he died fighting beneath, his sword a makeshift gravestone, buried six feet beneath the sand. A suitable burial is the very least that Noctis owes Clarus, after all. 

Clarus doesn’t move, the whole time. This should be obvious, but it still doesn’t feel like it’s sunk in that this is just  _ it  _ \- that the Shield is just going to lie there, gathering sand, until he’s buried. That he still hasn’t gotten up to ask Noctis why he’s moping around, why he’s been skipping training to curl up in the basement of the hideout and cry until he can’t breathe. That the hole in his chest and the blood on the sand are real, not just an illusion or some kind of training exercise or something - anything. 

But Clarus stays dead. And Noctis digs on. 

By the time the hole is fully dug, night is properly falling, the sun only a little red blur on the horizon lighting up thin streaks in the sky. There’s a pile of sand and dirt to the side of the little grave, and Noctis kneels down to stare Clarus in the face one more time, to take in the scars and the blood and the sand. Beneath everything, the man’s face is still so painfully known, so obviously familiar. The worry lines around his mouth and carved into his forehead from years and years of living like this. Vaguely gaunt cheeks. A hard, unforgiving jaw beneath an unsmiling mouth.

And he’s  _ dead.  _ Just like this, in the sand, the bodies of the hundreds of MTs he was fighting all piled up a few hundred feet away where Noct spent all of today dragging them in the hot sun. Dead. Never coming back. 

Noctis stands up, says, “I’m so sorry, Clarus.”

Then, he nudges him over with the toe of his boot, and Clarus rolls face-first down into the hole.

Filling it is easier than it should be. Shovelling the dirt and sand over one of his only two companions for- well- ever should be difficult. Watching him disappear for good, lined face and veiny eyelids disappearing under the sand, should hurt. But Noctis has used up all his sorrow now, thrown it all down into the hole with Clarus’ body, and now he’s just numb. There are no more tears - it’s too cold for rain. The sun slips down past the horizon. 

When it’s over, Noctis drags the shovel back to the hideout, doesn’t look back on the walk to their little home. His little home, now. The desert gets cold at night, and sand whips up on the air, skittering east towards the ruins on the horizon. All there is is ruins here - Solheim is barely more than a skeleton now, the trees are bare and dried out, the ruins barely holding. Barren and empty, aside from the occasional patrol of MTs or airship overhead. Empty, aside from the three of them. Empty, aside from Noctis. 

He leaves the shovel outside of the hideout, slipping down through the trapdoor and down the ladder. He never really bothered to ask Clarus or Cor what this place was - just assumed it was an old bunker or safehouse set up before the Fall, or maybe an ancient structure from the days of Solheim’s prosperity. No chance to, now. 

_ Stop thinking about it. Stop.  _ The main room - equal parts kitchen and living room and everything else, really - is dimly lit by a few lamps hanging from the dusty ceiling, and the three level bunk bed on the corner doesn’t really look so cramped anymore now that it’s empty. The radio on the wall across the room is still silent. Noctis heats up a can of beans at Cor stole a while ago, when he was still here and Clarus was still alive, and sits on the dusty couch, feeling numb. 

Nothing moves. Nobody speaks. The revelation that it says in books that you’re supposed to have - of some great mission, or quest, or some final wish you’re meant to fulfil when a loved-one dies - doesn’t come. The radio stays silent. The clock on the wall creeps past seven, then eight. 

And as the clock ticks past nine, Noctis starts packing.

**.**

_ “Fledgling. Fledgling. Come in. Fledgling.” _

Noctis snaps awake with a jolt, forehead aching where it was pressed against the kitchen table, and takes a second to glance around, trying to remember where he is. The hideout - a half-packed rucksack on the bed, piles of old letters spread out over the table from where he must have fallen asleep trying to sort through them. The clock on the wall tells him that it’s well past midnight. The desert is silent outside. 

_ “Come in. Fledgling.” _

And that’s the radio.

Noctis practically vaults over the table to cross the room to where his receiver is hung up on the wall, because god, he knows that voice-

_ “Fledgling-” _

“Marshal-” It comes out broken. “Marshal. Where the fuck  _ were you?” _

“Calm down.”

“I won’t fucking calm down-”

“I don’t have long.”

That shuts Noctis up. He’s never heard Cor sound even the slightest bit fearful, not ever, not even in all of these years living in the middle of the fucking desert. Angry, sure. Worried, occasionally. But never afraid. 

But now-

“They’re going to find me soon.”

“Cor- Marshal. Marshal. What happened? Where are you?”

“Irrelevant. I need you to listen to me. I’ve been searching for something - something important. And I got it. But I need you to put Sentinel on, kid, trust me. He can help. It’s imperative that this object finds its way into the hands of the Resistance-”

“Marshal, Sentinel is dead.”

Abrupt, horrible silence.

After a second, Cor carries on, a little quieter this time, “Then you need to do it.”

“I-”

“No time to talk,” Cor cuts in. “Our Sentinel might be dead, and I will be soon, but you are not.”

“But-!”

“Fledgling.” He sounds abruptly very tired. “For once, in all the years I’ve known you and protected you, listen to me.”

Noctis shuts his mouth.

“As I was saying-” And oh  _ gods, _ there’s yelling and shooting in the background- “I’ve found something very, very important. I need you to travel north - the Lucian border - find the leader of the New Wave, he can help you. You can trust him.”

“Wait, what does that mea-”

“-And Fledgling, this part is very important -  _ tell him that the Marshal found one of the Talisman in Gralea.” _

“Marshal-”

An explosion. Closer now.

“Walk tall. Hold your head high - remember that you have a throne to reclaim, and remember that Sentinel and I are with you-”

_ “Cor-” _

“Stay alive, find the New Wave-”

Another explosion. Crackling. 

The line goes dead.

The desert is still silent, the radio crackling vaguely with static. Noctis hurls it against the wall with a yell, feels his knees hit the ground. The abrupt realisation that he could scream all night at that nobody would hear - that there’s nobody out here, not Clarus nor Cor, not even via the radio - is terrifying, far more than it should be. Let it be known that Noctis has had to face a lot: pain, death, fear, that awful feeling that came with hearing Cor mention the prophecy that ascended even fear itself. 

But he’s never had to face it alone. 

_ Fuck. _ Noctis picks up the radio again just to throw it again, hard against the wall. It still doesn’t break, barely even dents, and this place smells and feels so much like Clarus and Cor, like the pair of them. Noctis wants to desperately to pick the radio back up, to call Cor back and to beg to hear his voice one more time. To just be able to say sorry would be enough. To say thank you. To promise to live. Anything. 

The tears come, then. 

Noctis doesn’t cry often - the last time he did was on his twelfth birthday, when Clarus travelled right up into Accordo to get him a present. It was only a little compass, but it had a sun and a moon on the back, pressed into the rusty metal. Pre-fall stuff like that compass was rare, anything with a moon motif or anything alluding to the Lucian monarchy strictly banned, and Noctis had cried and cried and hugged Clarus until the man had eventually hugged back. 

That was four years ago, and Noctis had been so sure he wasn’t a child anymore - but sixteen is sixteen, and loss is loss, and Clarus is buried and Cor is dead and Noctis cries for both of them. Cries for that compass, sitting on his bed. Cries for himself. 

There’s nobody out in the desert to hear it, after all. No Cor to show up and silently offer a tissue. No Clarus to tell him to man up. 

Nobody. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

_ You were born a human being, _ Cor had once told Noctis, he remembers.  _ You’ll die a prophecy.  _

Noctis remembers being confused by that. How can you die no longer a human? It didn’t make much sense at the time, but he had believed it - after all, Cor was right about most things. Noctis had figured that at some point down the line, something would change and he’d magically become something called a prophecy. It had sounded exciting at the time, like something out of the one of the comic books that Clarus would something steal from one of the border towns. 

As he got older, though, he started to understand it more. Nobody ever properly read him the prophecy; and isn’t that the case with most things to do with Noct, apparently - never quite getting the whole truth, only parts of it, segmented and vague enough to never quite show the whole truth. Either way, however, it wasn’t all that difficult to understand that the Gods had given Noctis some kind of duty, for some stupid reason, and that some day they were all going to have to leave Solheim - vast, empty, ruined Solheim, with no people and too much sand - and travel north to fulfil it. Sometimes, the concept had seemed exciting; maybe Noctis could visit the shops in the border towns, too, someday. Other times, it was scarier than even the worst daemons. 

_ Well, you’re on the border now. Isn’t this exciting? _

Safe to say, it isn’t exactly the most enjoyable experience. 

The first town Noctis comes across is tiny, a collection of squat little houses huddled in the skeletal remains of some huge old castle or wall. The sky above is open and empty, bright blue, and the sand burns beneath Noctis’ feet in the midday sun. The village isn’t even really past the Sol-Accordo border yet, sitting firmly on it and still nestled in the remains of the old kingdom, and Noctis, with his tan and his desert clothes, figures he should blend in well.

(This is, likely obviously, not the case.)

He’s barely been in the town for five minutes when people are shutting their doors and covering their windows, little kids ushered inside by their mothers. It’s still all sandy and- well- very  _ Solheim, _ boiling hot and likely a horrible time to be inside, but it seems like the whole little village retreats in on itself all at once just at the sight of Noctis. It takes another twenty minutes for a man - also in desert garb, with a scarred face and worried eyes - to approach Noctis warily from across the road. Somebody locks the door to the building he leaves behind him. 

“I thought this place was deserted,” Noctis says, drily. 

The man stays a solid five feet away from him at all times. “Who are you?”

“Uh… sorry?”

“Not to be- not to be forward.” A nervous laugh. “We’re just not used to visitors.”

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis gestures to the man’s face. “What happened there?”

The man laughs again, more nervously, and avoids the question. 

Both of them stand there for a few seconds, before eventually Noctis just sighs and says, “Look, I’m just passing through. Just need some water, if there’s any to buy in this town, and then I’ll be gone.”

“You’re… not Imperial, then?”

“What? Gods, no.” Noctis winces. “Sorry, no, of course not. Just a traveller.”

The man visibly relaxes, but still not fully. “We aren’t used to visitors who aren’t MTs or Imperials. In these times, and all.”

Noctis nods along, like he knows what that means.

“And… well, I’m sure we can refill a canteen if you have one?”

Gratefully, Noctis hands his over. “Thank you. And sorry, again, for the misunderstanding.”

Nervous laugh, again. There’s still no humour in the damn thing. 

The man skitters off, knocks a particular pattern into the door to get the person behind it to let him in, and Noctis stands for a few minutes out in the heat, waiting awkwardly for the canteen. It’s still deadly silent out here. Noctis wonders if the troop that killed Clarus passed through this town before reaching their hideout. Whether they hurt anybody here, or they’re all just so used to hiding that they don’t suffer casualties anymore. It’s been thirteen years since the Fall, after all. Surely by now, as grim as it might sound, if things are so bad out here, people have gotten used to it.

When the man finally returns, there’s a little girl trailing after him, though he’s obviously tried to shake her. She hides behind the man’s leg as he hands over the canteen, and both she and the man flinch as Noctis crouches down in front of her. He feels too young for this, like no townspeople should have the right to be this scared of some sixteen-year old passing through. 

“What’s your name?” Noctis asks anyway, quietly. “I’m Noct.”

“Claire.” The little girl looks up into his eyes, her own wide with wonder and a little fear. “Are you going to the North?”

“Yeah. I have to… I have to meet some people.”

“It’s bad up there,” she says quietly. “It’s really bad. The robot people come from up there.”

“I know,” Noctis says quietly. “I know.”

“Are you from there?”

“No- I mean- I was… born there. In the North. But I’ve lived down here for a while now. I’m just travelling back up there again.”

She bites her lip. “It’s really bad.”

Noctis glances back up at the man, the sadness in his eyes, the scars on his face. Wonders if this girl will end up with scars like that one day. Wonders if this town will die out like this, the people hiding with every newcomer, hidden in the ruins of a forgotten kingdom. 

“I know.” Noctis forces a grin that feels very fake. “But I’m strong.”

(He is not.)

A ways away from the village, Noctis glances over his shoulder. None of the people are back out on the streets yet, the town still silent, shadowed by the crumbling walls surrounding it. Light seeps through cracks in the one fully remaining wall, dappling the sand with sunlight in a gargantuan shadow. The image of MTs trooping into that town - kicking up dust, scaring people into their houses, soulless and monstrous - is unsettling.

But there are worse things to worry about. 

The next landmark Noctis passes is a sign, stuck in the sand in seemingly the middle of nowhere. Maybe there was once a road leading through here, but it’s long-since been buried beneath the sand. The sign itself is weathered, barely legible, but Noctis can just about make out the words beneath the crusted-on sand and faded paintwork. 

_ ‘Welcome to Accordo!’ _

On the other side, beneath the same jolly font proclaiming  _ Welcome to Solheim! _ is a far newer and far more obvious message: in crimson spray paint, sprawled across the sign;

_ ‘NO MAN’S LAND.’ _

Noctis suppresses a shiver and carries on. Nice to know that the MTs even patrol no-man’s land, outside of the land they’ve already conquered. They probably rarely even find the odd case of lawlessness, let alone the hideaway prince they’ve been searching for for thirteen years now. 

The next town is much the same - more scared people, locked doors and covered windows. No greeting this time, either. Noctis walks on anyway, disgruntled and a little scared. The radio feels too cold against his hip, even in the heat. It stays silent the whole day (and Noctis ends up walking for the whole day, though it’s not like it’s too difficult, what with Cor and Clarus’ training being what it was for all these years).

_ Stop thinking about them. Stop. It won’t make them come back. _

By the time night falls, Noctis finds another town, this one larger, easier to blend in to. There isn’t any hiding inside or running away when he slips down the main street, but there are a lot of suspicious glances, a lot of threatening glares from across streets. Noctis does his best to ignore them all, and to keep his hood up and his eyes downcast. Best not to draw any attention. Besides - most people are completely ignoring him, which is best, for now. 

There are more travellers in this town, too - a girl with red hair bartering at stall, a pale kid running along with the darker Accordian youths and laughing brightly, some shifty-looking, scar-faced blonde kid around Noctis’ age leaning against a wall. In the case of the last one, he and Noctis make eye contact for just a second. Maybe it’s sympathy behind that look, or suspicion - it doesn’t last long enough for Noctis to figure it out. There’s a glint of something metal in the guy’s sleeve that makes Noctis just pick up his pace and walk faster. 

There are no comic shops, nor much of anything else, really, aside from weapon venders and food stalls with the bare essentials. The travellers here make more sense as Noctis wanders the streets - this place seems to mostly be a checkpoint, a pass-through, and though most people look Accordian, there are also probably millions of travellers in their midst. There’s a Niff flag flying above the town, too, as there is above every town, but it’s torn and weathered more than it probably should be. Noctis takes that to mean that this place might still have a spark left. 

He finally gets the chance to consolidate when night has fallen completely, having purchased a room in the only inn this town has. It’s nothing special - small and cramped and dusty - but the room is bigger than the entirety of the hideout, so it’s practically luxury. Noctis collapses on the bed and just lies there for a while, staring at the ceiling and trying to regroup. Twelve hours ago, he was leaving the hideout for good. Twenty-four hours ago, burying Clarus. A week ago, Clarus was still alive. A month ago, Cor was too. Now they’re both dead and gone, and the world is a scary place, and Noctis is sixteen and very, very scared. 

But there isn’t any time for fear - never has been. There is time for missions from the gods, are for radio transmissions and codenames, and for pain, and for anger, but not for fear. Never for fear. Cor was always pretty clear about that. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily. This journey is only beginning, after all - the whole world is Niff territory, and Noctis is a hideaway prince with no throne to return to and a father long-dead. But there are surely people out there - people like Cor, and Clarus, and whatever the New Wave is. People still willing to fight. People still willing to die. 

So instead of thinking about his dead father, and dead caretakers, and dead mother, and dead kingdom, Noctis thinks about them, instead. What will the New Wave be like? War-hardened, weathered old revolutionaries? Young, fire-eyed rebels with hope that most people never seem to have anymore? Lucians? Tenebraens? Accordians? Even Niffs? Surely they’re brave, and likely older and wiser than Noctis is. Probably strong fighters. Probably jaded and harsh, like Cor. Hopeless and frowning like Clarus. 

When Noctis falls asleep, he dreams of the blond, scar-faced boy, and wonders if he’s ever fought for the rebellion. Blond hair and pale skin like that could only come from one place, after all.


	2. Aluminium Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the comments on chapter one! they mean the world to me <3  
> enjoy!

******.**

The morning comes too quickly, and with it an impending sense of doom. The busy town is abruptly deathly silent, not a soul out in the streets, and Noctis doesn’t have to go to the window to see what’s happening.

He does, anyway – call it morbid curiosity, or maybe just fear. The previously packed streets are empty of stalls, and all the windows of the surrounding buildings are closed, curtains drawn. There’s an uncommonly low, thick blanket of cloud hanging over everything, the sky churning and dark. Hoards of jerky, robotic bodies squash through the narrow openings between buildings, down the main street and north through the town, banging on doors and breaking windows. It feels like every human in this town is holding their breath. Noctis keeps the gap in the curtains half an inch wide, barely enough to peek one eye through, and struggles to keep the curtains still with his shaking hands.

The MT units’ jerky movements and uniform, inhuman stomps seem to just go on and on, floods upon floods of them. The smell of oil and rust is so thick on the air that Noctis can almost taste it, the dull desert heat creeping through the clouds probably heating up their metal exteriors. It feels like it goes on and on and on. These things – these manufactured creatures, dripping with Scourge, red-eyed and groaning – they killed Clarus. Probably killed Cor. Probably killed countless people from that first village. Probably scarred the face of that blonde kid.

When they’re finally,  _ finally _ gone, traipsing away out into the wilderness, it takes a few minutes for the town to come back to life. Noctis opens the curtains wide when he sees somebody across the street do so, and then goes back to start packing his meagre belongings into a bag. No sense in staying here longer than he needs to.

The town starts to come back to life slowly outside the window, people stepping cautiously out onto the streets and glancing up and down, stall owners warily beginning to set out their wares again. By the time Noctis gets down and out into the day, it’s just as bustling and loud as before, but everybody seems a little twitchier, a little more scared and nervy. Noctis holds his backpack tight to his back, radio tucked into his jacket, and keeps his head down as he wanders through the stalls and pretends he has the money for anything.

There are countless conversations going on, everywhere and about everything, so much so that Noctis can hardly figure out which one to pay attention to. Eavesdropping feels shifty and dishonest, but Noctis doesn’t really care. Wandering to a patch of shadow near the opening to an alleyway and stopping pointedly to unlace and relace his boot, a snippet of nearby conversation catches his attention, and he stares pointedly at the ground, straining his ears to hear it. 

“-Heard there’s a reason they’ve sent more troops through already. Somebody in one of the border towns reported somethin’.”

“Something? Something what?”

“I dunno. Probably some old rogue.”

A third voice. “Won’t be anything important. Not like they’ve gone out and found the bloody crown prince, you can take my word for it.”

Laughter. Noctis stands up and straightens his backpack and carries on walking. 

_ Fuck.  _

The man from the first town, it must have been - Noctis was an idiot, saying his name in front of him, mentioning that he was from the north.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _ More fake names it is. He’d just about gotten sick of aliases and codenames, ‘fledgling’ having been enough, but apparently it’s not enough to simply trust people in this new world. 

Passing a few more stalls, the sun just beginning to show itself again as the clouds drift north, Noctis catches sight of one particular cart stacked high with red apples, five gil each, and feels his stomach grumble harshly. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since he last ate, and while he isn’t exactly unused to going for long periods of time without sustenance, it’s starting to get uncomfortable. 

The woman manning the stall doesn’t take any notice of Noctis, smiling and laughing with a local buying a whole sack of the shiny red fruit. The apples are all so ripe, too, and there are so many of them, and Noctis realises vaguely that the last time he ate was before burying Cor. He finds himself patting his pockets for loose change that he knows he doesn’t have, feeling stupid and more than a little- is this shame? This feeling? If it is, it feels unnecessarily harsh, and it burns down the back of his neck like fire. 

He can last. Noctis might be a runaway, a hideaway, but he’s not a criminal. Somebody worked hard to get those apples, likely from further north. Everybody’s hungry in these troubled times. 

But they look so  _ good- _

Noctis feels a stare on his back, suddenly, and turns his head to the other side of the street. It’s crowded, people all bustling and pressed together like zombies, so it takes him a moment to find the person in the crowd - leaning against a wall, arms crossed beneath the sleeves of a jacket far too big, lithe form situated comfortably in the shadows. 

_ Be ready to run. Be ready to hide.  _

But- no. It’s the kid from before, not an angry townsman or some kind of law enforcement, about to question why Noctis is loitering. The blond one, with all the scars. 

His jacket really is far too big for the kid, and he must be Noctis’ age or a little younger, in boots and thick pants despite the weather. The kid’s bright eyes are curious and one eyebrow is raised, and beneath the bandana covering the lower half of his face, Noctis can’t tell whether he’s smiling, which is more than a little frustrating. He raises an eyebrow right back, at this kid with a probably-stolen jacket and probably-stolen pants and all the scars, as if to say,  _ what are you going to do? _

The kid holds his gaze for a moment more, and then pointedly looks away, tapping his foot lazily. An ally, then. It doesn’t matter too much - it’s not like he’s ever going to see the kid again, not really. 

And it turns out, Noctis is entirely wrong about that. 

The next time he sees the guy is approximately thirty seconds later, when he’s just swiped two apples and the owner of the stall is suddenly yelling, people turning to see what’s going on. Noctis freezes where he’s standing, terror gripping him, and then there’s suddenly a hand on his wrist, very cold and not really much like a hand at all, and another reaching out to nick half a dozen more apples and cram them into Noctis’ jacket. Then, just like that, Noctis is being tugged along at the two of them are running, the cart overturned behind them and shiny red apples going everywhere, the pair of them almost tripping on them all.

The person hauling Noctis along is fast, very fast. But Noctis is no slouch, and the two of them dart off down a sidestreet and run and run until everything blurs around them, nothing existing but the cold hand in Noctis’ own, the apples tucked into his jacket and the ground beneath them. This new world - MTs and tyrannous empires, royal conquests and fated prophecies - Noctis doesn’t know much about any of that. Running, however, he has a long, long history of.

They’re not losing their pursuers so quickly, however. The stall owner and two men, townspeople, pound after them, yelling for them to stop. Noctis and his impromptu partner might be fast, but they can’t keep this up - not in a town they don’t know, full of angry people. 

In a split-second decision, Noctis tugs an apple out of his jacket and hurls it up onto a nearby rooftop. 

The familiar feeling of sliding out and then back into reality takes over, the world numbing and fading with a twisting sensation for a second before they’re suddenly both on a rooftop, slamming to a stop on the unforgiving rock. Noctis rolls, using his body to cushion the now probably very bruised apples, and comes to a stop on his back, panting in the open air, the blonde stranger gasping for breath beside him. Surprisingly, the guy isn’t throwing up. Isn’t even gagging. Not even Cor could side-warp without heaving a little. 

That’s not normal. 

Still - neither of them speaks for a long while, both out of breath and shuddering in the sunlight. The blond stranger lets a few more apples roll out of his sleeve and whoops weakly, throwing his arms over his face. It’s mercifully peaceful. 

Then- “You can warp?”

Okay. Not the question Noctis was expecting.

“You know what warping is?”

The stranger sits up, groaning. “There’s- heh- a lot of stuff I know, dude. You’d be surprised, honestly. What’s that magic, then - homebrew?”

“...Excuse me?”

The blonde guy shrugs, like he’s trying to work a knot out of his rail-thin shoulders. “Y’know. I doubt you’re hooked up to the actual, like, Crystal to be able do that. You use some kind of potion to get the abilities? Or just magically gifted?”

“...Yeah. Gifted,” Noctis settles on, pretending he knows what the guy is going on about.  _ Another thing to note about this new world - magic. Not limited to the throne anymore. Makes sense, with the throne being long dead.  _

Well, on second thought, it probably is illegal to some capacity. It used to be, aside from when aiding the crown, even to those rare people with a natural affinity. This guy just doesn’t seem like the type to care much about legalities.

“Ugh. Y’know, that was kinda stupid.”

“What?”

The blonde guy flops back, patting Noct’s clavicle consolingly. “Not to call you an idiot or anything. Just - trying to steal from the middle of a packed street kind of does make you an idiot. No offence.”

“Got out, didn’t I? Thanks to you,” Noctis replies.

“Damn right! I’m your Prince Charming. Ooh, wait, shit. I think the word ‘prince’ is just about considered blasphemy by now. Maybe I should stick to other titles.”

_ If only you knew.  _ “Or maybe you could just tell me your actual name?”

“What’s my name?” The boy puffs out a breath between chapped lips. “Damn, dude. Loaded question.”

“Thought you were my Prince Charming. Aren’t princes meant to be all… brave and chivalrous?”

“Fair point!” The guy shoots Noctis a bright smile. “Call me Kato.”

“That’s not your actual name.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Noctis sighs. “I’m Somnus.”

“Hah.” Kato laughs roughly. “Let me guess. Fake?”

“Looks like there is a brain up there.”

Kato rolls over to shoot Noctis withering glare without much heat. “Oi! Sorry, dude, but if it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead. Or at least, like, beat up. Or- I dunno.”

“Yeah. Which is exactly why I question if you have two brain cells to rub together.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Noctis rolls onto his side to look Kato in the eye. “It means, why the fuck would you rescue me, a random stranger? We don’t know each other. At all.”

“I was trying to be nice!” At Noctis’ disbelieving look, Kato deflates a little. “Okay, look, this world is kinda shit, but I try to be a good person where I can. Only way to survive.”

“Really?” Noctis snorts. “Yeah, that stolen jacket really sings  _ saint.” _

“Hey!” Kato actually sounds hurt this time. “This jacket was a gift, actually. From somebody I really, really care about. Don’t be like that, man.”

“Oh… Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” Kato sighs. “It’s fine.”

The sun burns above them. Noctis wonders vaguely why he’s still here, why he hasn’t gotten up and ran yet. Lying here on some random rooftop with a stranger, in a pile of bruised apples with the sunlight burning down on them - it feels the most peaceful Noctis has since Cor was still at the hideout. Kato doesn’t seem to want to move, either. 

“...The pants are stolen, though.”

And the moment is gone.

“Of course they are.”

“Sorry! But, look, man, you gotta do what you gotta do. Do no harm, take no shit. And also- take loose clothes if somebody leaves them lying around and you don’t have any spare.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

Kato blows a raspberry at him. “And I think you owe me one for saving you back there. Where are you from anyway, man? To not know how things work in towns like this. Some mysterious gifted stranger with shitty hair and a taste for apples. Like something out of a comic book.”

“Where am I from? Loaded question.”

“Touchy.”

“It’s  _ touché.” _

“Oh. Sorry.”

Noctis rolls back onto his back, picking an apple from the folds of his jacket and tossing it up and down lazily. There’s a comfortable silence for a while, which is weird and feels very alien and Noctis doesn’t like it. “Why have neither of us run away yet?”

“Honestly? No clue. Usually, I’d be long gone, man. ‘Specially around a magic user. Scary stuff, in these times.”

“And yet, you’re lying on a rooftop with one of them. Having just rescued them from a failed robbery.”

“Idiot, aren’t I?”

“Completely.”

Kato laughs. “Enough with accusing me, though, dude - what about you? Would’ve thought you’d - I dunno. Magic-zap me and be gone. With all our precious apples.”

_ It’s just to get information out of him. About how he knows about warping. About who he knows that’s close enough to the crown to have warped with him before, _ Noctis tries and fails to convince himself.  _ That’s all this is. _

Out loud, Noctis says, “I don’t really know. Been a while since I’ve properly talked to somebody.” His voice breaks, pitifully, on the last word. Fuck.

“Damn. Uh- sorry, dude.” Kato pats him again, with that cold hand. 

“It’s fine. I’m… fine.”

Kato sighs. “...If it means anything, it’s been a while since I talked to anybody, either. Radio’s been silent and everything. Getting a little worried about my people back up north.”

“Your people?”

“Yeah. Specifically kind of enemy-of-the-state sort of people, if you know what I mean. It’s not often that they go quiet.”

For a second, Noct genuinely considers just spilling his guts to this guy - telling him his real name, and where he’s been for the last thirteen years, and that he needs to find the New Wave, and that he needs help, and that he’s oh so scared and alone and terrified. The need to just tell  _ somebody  _ is almost overpowering - to find somebody who can help, who can lift the burden of all of this. 

After all, this guy might just be who he was looking for. Northern, all scars and cold hands, and a radio filled with constant chatter. Mischievous smile. A well-learned thief. A kind smile. For all Noctis knows, this guy might even know who the New Wave are, might be able to get him to them. Kato seems friendly enough, young and lost just like him. Maybe this could work. Maybe this is fate talking, something the stupid Gods put in place that actually helps for once.

But then Noctis remembers the first man, who gave him water and let him talk to his daughter and then reported him to the MTs without a second thought. To those people on the streets, laughing about the impossibility of their vanishing act of a prince being alive. To the MT units crashing through the crumbling streets, no care for anybody but the Empire. To Kato’s shifty nature and mistrustful bright eyes. 

Noctis decides to keep his mouth shut. 

Instead of any of that, Noctis says, “I hope they reply soon. If they’re anything like what I’ve seen of you, they’ll be fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re very quick.”

“Oh.” Kato stares up at the sky for a minute, now more bright blue than cloud, and then grins widely. “You really think so?”

“I mean, if the fact that we’re both still alive is anything to go by, I’d say you’re quicker than most.”

“Aw. Buddy! You do love me.”

“Not before I even know your real name I don’t.”

Kato sits upright and bounces up onto his haunches, grinning. “Nah. You can’t take it back now! We’re friends. I’m your friend.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the intense warmth suddenly present in his chest. “Oh, I’m not sure about that.”

“You should be! What are your other friends like? I bet they’re cooler than me, but I’ll get there, buddy.”

Noctis throws an apple at him. “Quit with talk like that.”

Kato, of course, falls back and howls dramatically, though it’s muted, probably because neither of them wants the townspeople to catch on that they’re up here. “I’m wounded!”

“No you’re not, you moron.” Noctis sits up too, now, and stares down into his lap as the mirth fades a little. “And, uh. Actually. You’re… my first friend. I think.”

Kato stops. “I am?”

“Yeah. I mean, I had my… dads. But they’re gone, and I’ve never had anybody else.”  _ You’re saying too much, stop it, stop it, stop- _ “But if we’re friends, I guess I can deal with one person.”

“I’m-!” Kato’s whole face lights up like the sun. “I’m your first friend, oh fuck, yes! Oh, _ dude, _ I’m going to have to show you so many cool things, you have no idea-”

Kato cuts off, and Noctis only realises after a second why. Neither of them really knows each other. Kato is probably going to be moving on from this town, and Noctis too, and both of them in different directions most likely. Noctis’ first friend is some random undesirable that holds a bad place in the eyes of the government and helped him steal some apples, and they’ll probably never talk again.

“I don’t suppose,” Kato says, in a voice that’s suddenly small and flat, “That you just happen to be wandering the desert with no destination? And a desire to be dragged around by some thief to show you the sights?”

“Uh- no. Sorry. I’m not. Got a road to walk.” 

_ (Walk tall, _ Cor had said. Noctis wants to curse him.)

“North?”

“Yeah. And you?” 

“I’m skirting the border.” Kato laughs tiredly. “Got a road to walk, too. A mission.”

Neither of them talks for a while. Kato is still staring at the blue sky, the sun burning both of them but neither really caring, and when Noctis turns to look at him, the sun has caught the scars on his face just right and they stand out like brands. He wants to ask, but doesn’t. 

He really wants to stay with this boy, who he barely knows, who steals apples and wears a jacket too big for him and makes dumb, self-deprecating jokes. More than he’s wanted anything for a while now. But the world is a pretty cruel place. 

“Sorry about that,” Noctis says. 

“Nah, it’s okay.” Kato rolls to his feet, and throws an apple to Noctis, only taking for for himself, the rest still scattered around them. “Don’t think you’re getting out of the friend thing, though, man. We’re friends now. No escaping.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do.”

Kato laughs, then goes quiet. When Noctis meets his eyes, he looks sad. “I. Uh. Hope things go well for you. With whatever your road is.”

Noctis goes to stand, takes Kato’s very cold hand when he offers his help to get to his feet, and neither of them lets go when Noctis is standing up properly. “You, too.”

“You sure you don’t want to take me up on that offer?” Kato says. “We can get more apples. And I might be willing to share my awesome, badass jacket.”

“Uh-” 

Noctis really wants to, for a minute. To go along with Kato and hang with him until he slips up one day and reveals that he’s really an undercover member of the New Wave, whoever they are, and Noctis can go with him to the north and find people and live on without all the loneliness anymore. 

But that’s just the deprivation of human contact talking. 

“-Sorry. I can’t.”

“That’s okay.” Kato grins, and lets go of his hand, only to extend his out in front of him for a handshake. “We’ll meet again, yeah? Like, stay alive, try not to get caught stealing.”

“Only if you don’t.” 

Either way, Noctis puts out his hand and takes Kato’s, and shakes it hard. It’s cold and unyielding, and a glance downwards at metal parts glinting in the sunlight is all he really needs to know. 

He lets go.

Kato tucks his prosthetic hand back into his sleeve. The two of them go around picking up apples for a few moments, neither talking, and Noctis shoves a few of them onto Kato despite his protests. It feels like that strange combination of awkward and sad, if that’s even a thing. Like they both know they shouldn’t really be that sad about separating from a stranger they barely know. 

Then, Kato steps back, jacket filled with apples and with that bright, sunny, broken smile, and the moment dies. 

“See ya, then, Somnus!” Kato slips down onto a lower window ledge across the roof, just peeking up over the ledge, and waves with one arm, hanging precariously.

“See you, Kato.”

Noctis waits until Kato has slipped down fully over the side of the building and his chocobo-butt hair has disappeared over the edge, and then picks up a pebble and throws it as far as he can, out past the last of the buildings and towards the open sand. The pebble soars, sailing high above where Kato is probably slipping like a shadow through the streets, over the carts and vendors of this town and into the wilderness beyond, and Noctis takes a deep breath, slips through time and space, and lands on the hard sand. 

Then, he’s running again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment if you can! our boys have finally met


	3. A Harsher World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to anybody who commented! enjoy!

******.**

The next town passes in a blur of sand and exhaustion. The apples deplete and eventually, Noctis runs out of them.

The next town, bigger and with MTs stationed at intervals and shifty-eyed, scared people, passes quicker. 

The next barely registers. 

And the next. 

And the next. 

**.**

A month has passed since Cor’s last transmission when Noctis first finds people who he thinks he might be able to trust. Solheim feels a million miles behind him, Accordo nothing like the dry, sweltering desert - everything is mountainous and hot, greenery everywhere and little towns dotted along the winding roads. MTs everywhere spoil the beauty of this place. The people are all very restless, and there are whispers about Altissia around every corner, whatever’s going on with that place. Noctis has too much on his mind to think about that right now. 

He finds a group to run with. 

They’re not exactly war-hardened revolutionaries, nor are they really that dedicated to much at all, to be frank, but none of them are fans of the empire, and they’re nice enough. Mercenaries, and on a small scale, but they have connections. Connections that could be useful. Connections that could pay off if he ever wants to walk the path Cor set out for him. Noctis offers his services and their leader takes one long look at him - deep Solheim tan, Lucian features, dark hair - and accepts. It’s obvious that they would never take in somebody pale and Niff like Kato. Noctis doesn’t comment on that. 

He mostly keeps to himself for the first few weeks, just watches and learns and goes on whatever jobs they want him to. They’re not murderers, but they are far from gentle, and he spends long nights as brainless muscle, standing at the shoulders of slippery manipulators making underground deals in the obscure criminal underbelly of Accordo.He keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t ask questions. After three weeks, they offer Noctis a place to stay. At the end of the fourth week, the leader Brutus - scar-faced and Accordian through and through, a behemoth of a man - tells Noctis that he likes him. 

They’re not all that bad, really. Rough around the edges and hopeless, all of them hopeless, but friendly enough that Noctis feels a little more at ease with them than he would alone. They’re all dark-circled eyes and scowls, but they take Noctis out to drink despite his age and laugh at him when he chokes on the smoke of his first cigarette, and one of the men ruffle’s Noctis’ hair when he wins a game of cards, and Noctis thinks, fancifully, that maybe he could stay here. Maybe these ragtag idiots could be his people.

At the end of the fifth week, after a long, grueling job that ends in resounding success, Noctis decides to tell them. 

Their base is small and cramped, squashed underground in the bowels of a small town at the foot of a mountain, and Noctis knocks on the leader’s door and tries to ignore the shaking in his hands. After getting the okay to enter, he slips into the dimly lit room and comes face to face with this man - this one gang leader of thousands, this one thug of millions. Reconsiders briefly, but then decides,  _ fuck it.  _

Brutus is sitting behind a beaten up old desk, like some kind of mafia boss but without any of the bravado, and he raises an eyebrow at Noctis. “Yeah, Somnus?”

“My real name isn’t Somnus,” Noctis blurts out, before he can stop himself. “It’s Noctis.”

Silence. Thick and heavy. Suffocating.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

More silence. 

Then, Brutus starts to laugh. It begins slow and then gets louder, and heavier, scratchy in the back of his throat. Noctis grips the door handle tight and feels his body back up fast, pressed up against the doorframe, ready to run. 

Stupid. Stupid. This was so, so  _ stupid.  _

“Hah,” Brutus says, and then like cement his face hardens. “You weren’t joking.”

“I wasn’t.” 

Noctis keeps his chin up and knows how he must look in that moment, bedraggled and thin, sallow. Scared. A little kid, stupid and naive. 

Brutus stands up and Noctis presses down, starts to slowly turn the handle, still seconds from bolting. There’s a few feet between him and the hulking man, and the already low ceiling feels like it’s pressing down. On the desk, one of the gas lamps blinks, flickers and dies. 

The hit isn’t a surprise. The force is, sure, sending Noctis crashing to the side, almost stumbling to his knees. But the hit isn’t a surprise in the least. 

Brutus grabs his collar  _ (you didn’t even know his second name, _ Noctis finds himself thinking vaguely,  _ why the hell did you think the person to accept you wouldn’t have even told you their last name?)  _ and hauls Noctis to his feet and further, pulling him up so they’re nose to nose and Noctis is left scrambling for purchase as his collar cuts into his neck. This isn’t a surprise. None of this is a surprise. 

“Listen to me, and listen well.” Brutus is speaking quietly, barely audible, but fury bubbles up in every syllable. “I don’t care if you’re some Sol’ punk with delusions, or really the godsdamned prince, or hell, fucking Shiva. You’re gonna leave, and you’re not ever gonna come back to this town. Hopefully, you die out in the wilderness and you don’t leave your royal trail leading back to my people. Don’t want any shithead connected to all that coming near this place, whether you’re really him or not. You hear me?”

Noctis can feel his eyes watering, hands trembling, breath barely coming. The back of his neck is going to bruise, and his face. Everything hurts, but maybe that’s just the terror. “P-Please. Please. Please.”

“Please  _ what?!” _ Brutus roars, spit flying, so loud and abrupt that Noctis flinches hard struggles harder, pure fear clogging up his veins. “What the fuck did you  _ think  _ I was going to say?! You think anybody is going to house the fucking Prince of Lucis?”

“Please-!” It feels like all Noctis can say.

“They’ve been trying to catch that fucking kid for years! You’re a fucking dead man! You want protection, go find those fucking New Wave maniacs!”

Noctis swallows hard and manages to choke out, “Gods, I’m so sor-”

The leader drops him, and Noctis crumples like a puppet with snapped strings. A boot connects with his face, and the whole world goes black. 

_ You’re stupid. So, so stupid. _

**.**

Noctis wakes up in the middle of the wilderness miles outside of the town, everything gone but the clothes on his back and his radio, which had been tucked inside his shirt. They even took the compass from his back pocket. 

He starts running again.

**.**

A few weeks later, Noctis catches sight of Kato wandering through a crowded tavern, glancing around as he’s tugged along by a hurried looking hooded figure. Noctis waves at him, and Kato’s whole face lights up as he waves back and starts towards him, but is pulled back by his companion. He mouths,  _ talk later? _ and then he’s gone.

They don't talk later. Kato doesn't return.

**.**

Four months have passed since Cor died when Noctis folds himself into another group - a small gang of Lucian mercs trying to survive in a relatively decent-sized trading town in west Accordo. They’re all rugged and scared but kind and welcoming anyway, taking Noctis in even despite his non-Lucian tan from years of living under the hot sun in the ruins of Solheim. 

They’re… great. Even their leader seems decent, not large and sneering like Brutus was. They even seem to get it when he turns down jobs that involve targets who are big and bulky men, well-built and so reminiscent of Brutus and all the nights of nightmares that whole encounter brought on. One of the guys offers advice to deal with the flashbacks. They don’t ask questions, and they’re not touchy-feely people, not seeming to care for sentimentalities much, but they’re good. 

Noctis thinks he might stay with them, though he’s petrified at the idea of telling them who he really is. Flashes of a biting pain in his neck and a kick to the jaw, and waking up alone and so, so confused, are relentless these days.

He hasn’t even gotten the chance to consider his plan for his future with them when another gang, Niffs, kills their leader in front of him, and Noctis gets a new scar on his face trying to get away. 

He’s the only survivor. 

Noctis carries on running. 

**.**

Five months in, Noctis is close to giving up when it happens. 

He got turned away at the border into Tenebrae, which at the time had seemed like the only possible option to find the New Wave (after all, if they were to hide anywhere, surely the Lucian border on Tenebrae would be the best spot? He’s flying blind, here, grabbing at straws). When he gets sent back into Accordo, Noctis travels east, just to find a destination. He’s never felt this aimless. The new scar across his nose always feels tender. 

Noctis has just reached a new trading town, actually, and is wandering through the marketplace when he catches sight of a vaguely familiar head of hair across the sea of people. The worn leather of the back of the jacket confirms it, and Noctis breaks into a run, squeezing through the crowds, desperate not to lose sight of his friend.

“Kato. Kato!”

Kato turns his head slightly at the sound, and then it’s like something registers in his mind and he spins around just in time for Noctis to skid to a stop in front of him. 

Noctis takes a moment just to take in the familiar face. Kato looks exactly like he did all those months ago, blonde hair sticking up messily and freckles peeking out between the scars on his face and neck, bright eyes wide and expressive. He’s dressed a little more, in thick pants and still that jacket pulled over a sweatshirt, and Noctis wonders how he isn’t overheating in the Accordian sun. 

Then, Noctis has to stop looking abruptly at Kato throws his arms around him. 

“Somnus! Oh, Six, I was worried about you, man! Glad you’re still alive!”

Noctis hugs back mechanically and tries to remember how to breathe. “Good to see you too. Didn’t think you’d be this enthusiastic.”

“What can I say?” Kato pulls back, still beaming like he’s swallowed the whole sun. “I missed you! It’s been quiet for a few months now. Glad for a friend!”

Then, abruptly, Kato’s face falls. It’s like he’s finally processed Noctis’ appearance, and he pulls back abruptly, still lingering close, the two of them pressed into the shadows. Noctis braces himself for questions about the scar.

“What  _ happened?” _

“You mean with this? It wasn’t-”

“No, I mean, like-” Kato gestures vaguely to all of Noctis. “What happened to you dude? Shiva’s tits, you look half dead, man.”

“What?” 

Kato glances around surreptitiously, then grabs Noctis’ hand and tugs him down a sidestreet. “Let’s find somewhere more private.”

The two of them end up sitting on a rooftop, again, though it’s a lot lower this time - just the roof of some abandoned little house on the outskirts of the main town, low enough to the ground to jump from, concrete hot in the midday sun. Kato tugs Noctis down to sit opposite him, crossing his legs. Noctis does the same, and lets Kato prod and poke gently at the bruises he can feel on his face from a recent scuffle, their knees touching.

“Where have you been for the last five months?”

“Around,” Noctis says, trying to sound casual. “Uh. Y’know. Trying to walk that road.”

“Did it work?” Kato asks quietly. 

Noctis can’t really find it in himself to answer.

Neither of them talks for a while. Eventually, Kato runs out of things to poke at and fuss over, and the two of them lie back side-by-side like they did all that time ago. 

“Is somebody hurting you?” Kato asks after a while. “Because if it’s a person - if you’re in debt to somebody, or a merc, or you’re a slave or something… I can help. I will help. I know people who can kill them, Som.”

The nickname would be touching is Somnus was his real name. “We barely know each other.”

“Yeah, but you’re in pain and you’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends get hurt.”

Noctis sighs softly. “It’s not a person. Or… or anything that isn’t my fault, really. I’ve made some crap decisions and I’ve gotten myself into a crap situation because of it, but I’ll be alright. Worry about yourself, Kato.”

Kato frowns openly at the sky. “I really don’t want to. Not if whoever gave you that scar is still out there.”

Noctis winces a little at that. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

And Kato turns his whole face to Noctis then, bares every scar carved there for him to see. One particular gouge, across the bridge of his nose, crooked from being broken in the past, matches Noctis’. “I used to say the same thing.”

That shuts Noctis up. 

Kato’s face contorts into something that looks a little bit like tragedy. “Look… maybe you’re right. Maybe we do barely know each other, and I’m just another stranger out here to you.”  _ You’re not. _ “Maybe I don’t even have the right to hug you like I did.”  _ You do.  _ “But… I don’t know why, okay, but I care about you. And I was worried, for a long time. And I’m still worried now. I want to help.”

“I’ve told people about everything that’s going on before,” Noctis says softly. “That didn’t end well. Still get nightmares and everything, though it sounds lame.”

“Som…”

“Look.” Noctis pulls himself to his feet. “Maybe one day I’ll come clean about it all. About who I am. Maybe it’ll all work out. But I- I can’t, right now. I can’t risk that happening again.”

Kato looks very sad. “We can help. Me and my people.”

“I can’t be sure of that.”

“At least-” Kato deflates. “At least tell me what your plans are, now? What are you going to do? Where are you planning to go?”

“Probably into more merc work,” Noctis says. “Or something. I don’t know. I have a goal, but if I’m honest I have no idea how to get there and where I’m meant to go from here, and I’m scared to death of it all.”

“Somnus-”

“But you’re right, I don’t really know you, and I can’t tell you about all of this. Sorry, Kato.”

The words sound very harsh, hanging on the air, out in the open. Kato winces but nods all the same, the jacket shrouding his shoulders shifting as he stands. 

“I wish I could help you.”

“I wish you could, to. But you have to take care of yourself.”

Kato stares at the ground for a minute, before pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling a jumble of numbers onto it and shoving it at Noctis, who raises an eyebrow and inspects it.

“What is this?”

“My radio frequency. Cell phones got too easy to track a long time ago, and I know you’ve got a radio hiding in that jacket somewhere. Passwords are quicksilver, knight and Icarus. Call me, anytime, and I’ll be there. Anytime.”

“Kato, I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can.” Kato crosses his arms, prosthetic peeking out from his sleeve to glint in the daylight. “Give me your frequency too, if you want, but you’re keeping mine. I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine.”

“Kato…”

“Nope! No buts.”

Noctis ends up giving his frequency over in the end, deciding on his password being  _ fledgling  _ before he can really think about it. Kato pockets it with a bright smile, and Noctis tries not to think about how desperately he hopes that neither of them will ever have to use them. 

_ You’re getting too close. Too much. _

Noctis tries and fails to get that voice to shut up. 

“Y’know, maybe I’d trust you a bit more if you told me your actual name,” Noctis jokes weakly, after a long stretch of silence. “‘Kato’ is getting a bit old. Doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s mean, dude. And, just FYI, Somnus is a pretty shit fake name, too. I mean, ‘Somnus’, what does that even mean? Sounds like a DnD character.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Kato sticks his tongue out at him. “And for your information, my real name is Titus.”

It’s fake - obviously, deliberately fake - but it sounds enough like Brutus that Noctis still shudders a little. “Mmhm. I definitely take your word on that one.”

“As you should!” 

“Since you’ve told me your definitely legit, completely and totally not made up name, I feel obligated to tell you mine.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“... Stultus,” Noctis says, thinking on the spot. “Stultus Shmultus. The third.”

Kato (or Titus, but Kato suits him more) bursts into peals of laughter. “Dude! Didn’t know you were nobility!”

“You hadn’t noticed my royal charms?”

“My apologies.” Kato mock-bows, putting on a thick, posh accent. “Oh, royal descendant of the Shmultus house. My utmost respect to you and your clan.”

“Oh, shut it. I wish I had an apple to throw at you.” 

Kato sits bold upright suddenly, snaps his fingers. “That’s it! That’s a thing we can do!”

“What?”

“We need to go steal some apples!”

“Wait, what-”

Kato levels him with that blinding smile again, and it feels startlingly real. “If you’re not going to let me help you with your shit situation, at least let me distract you from whatever crap you’re going through right now, okay, Som?”

“...Okay,” Noctis agrees, quietly. “We can do that.”

**.**

Later, they share a motel room, curled up on either side of the same bed. It’s nerve-wracking, and Noctis is scared to death of screaming in the night or lashing out and hurting Kato, but his sleep is truly dreamless for the first time in months. 

The next morning, Kato is gone.

**.**

Seven months in, and Noctis finds a routine.

There’s a gang in the east who he manages to make a deal with - he steals whatever they need him to, which he’s gotten good at after all these months, and they get him a shitty little place to sleep and a little Gil whenever he’s in town. It's good to have a base point, a place he knows he can return to if shit goes south. They're decent people. He doesn't allow himself to get close to any of them.

Whenever they don't have much work for Noctis, he travels, mostly - either around Accordo, picking up work with other gangs in exchange for scraps of information and Gil, or occasionally across the border into Tenebrae. It’s a long trek, and tricky to sneak past border patrol, Noctis having only managed it a handful of times. Every time he does, Tenebrae seems very empty for the few days he stays, and he has absolutely no idea where to head next to even begin searching for the New Wave. Any time he thinks about asking somebody, the image of Brutus, hulking and huge, looms in Noctis’ mind, and he keeps his mouth shut. 

It doesn't feel productive. Some days, Noctis manages to convince himself that this is the sensible option - that one day soon, information about the New Wave will slip through to him and he’ll be able to make a solid break for it. Other days, he feels swamped by his own inactivity, terrified of being stuck as some lowly thief for all his days while the world sinks into ruin around him. He feels like he should be doing something, meeting people or travelling or  _ something,  _ but he’s a mess, physically and mentally, and clueless, and most of all terrified. It's not a good combination.

(Things would be so much easier if Clarus and Cor were still here, but there’s no time to think about that now.)

The radio remains silent. Noctis keeps it dutifully charged, saves up enough Gil to buy a spare pack of batteries in case the ones he has currently die. Kato doesn't ever call, though, despite how worried he had been last time. Noctis wondered if he scared the kid off with his standoffish nature and cold words last time when they talked about their friendship, though those words were admittedly mild. Kato doesn't strike him as the type to get upset over stuff like that, probably, but you never know.

Months pass.

**.**

Noctis celebrates his seventeenth in the bathroom of a roadside diner in rural northern Accordo, nursing a black eye and itching to call Kato, if for nothing but to hear a friendly voice. He manages to resist it, but it takes a lot of willpower to let the radio stay safe in his jacket. 

**.**

The anniversary of Clarus’ and Cor’s deaths passes without event, but Noctis carves a moon and a sun - like the ones on that compass, long-gone - into a wooden support beam in his designated room in the east and pretends it means something.

He does call Kato that day, just to hear a voice, because Noctis is weak and a coward and can't hold his nerve when it comes to sunny, warm people like Kato. 

It takes a few seconds for Kato to pick up. “Password?” 

“Quicksilver, knight, Icarus.”

“Okay, who is this?” 

“Kato?” Noctis asks, hears a sharp intake of breath. “It's. Uh. Somnus. Or whatever.”

“Som?!” Kato sounds half elated, half very, very concerned. “What happened? Are you alright? Do you need me to come-”

Noctis feels stupid. “I'm- fine. I’m fine, Kato, calm down, Astrals. I’m alright,”

There’s a deep, crackly exhale on the other end of the line. “You scared the life out of me! Holy crap, dude. Don't do that.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, don't be. Sorry for freaking out.” Another exhale. “Not that I don't love hearing from my favourite mystery nerd, but is there an occasion?”

“I mean… are you busy right now?”

“No, actually.” Kato sounds curious. “Stuck between jobs, stuck between people. Busy job, my dude. What’s up?”

Despite every instinct screaming at Noctis to keep his idiot mouth shut, he miraculously manages to ignore them all. “It's, uh. It's actually been a full year since my dads passed. And I’m. Uh. Not doing well.”

Kato is silent. Noctis can almost hear him trying to come up with a way to reprimand him for using up precious radio time gently.

“That sounds- that sounds stupid.” Noctis makes an annoyed sound. “Sorry. What i mean is, I really just needed to hear somebody’s voice, and you’re the only person I’ve got.”

“Where are you?” Kato asks, softly.

“East Accordo. Some abandoned old military base a contact has me housed up in. You know how it is.”

“Fuck. I'm in Gralea,” Kato says, as if he'd seriously planned to come running to east Accordo if he was only closer. “Okay, what do you need?”

“...What?”

“That was a stupid way of putting it.” Kato makes a vaguely distressed noise. “What can I do to help, is what I meant. How can I make it better?”

“Just…” Noctis curls up tighter on the uncomfortable bed. “Talk, if that’s alright? Just carry on talking?”

“Yeah.” Kato sound breathless, “Yeah, I can do that. I can do that, Som.”

The clock says it’s just past nine p.m. when Noctis calls Kato, and Kato talks until the hour hand has moved well past three, until his voice is scratchy. He seems to have an endless amount of things to talk about - old stories, old myths, funny conversations he’s had with bartenders, nerdy comic book trivia. Noctis ‘hmm’s and ‘yeah’s in the right places, and Kato seems fine with holding the conversation, only occasionally checking that Noctis is okay.

When Noctis wakes up the next morning, a red light blinking on the radio to signal that it’s running low on battery life and the soft sound of Kato snoring on the other end filling the stagnant air, he wonders what on earth he could have done to deserve a friend like Kato. He can't come up with an answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please leave a comment if you have the time! <3 i hope you enjoyed!


	4. Friends and Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the comments. enjoy!

**.**

Caseus is leveling Noctis with a look that could be fond but also could be condescending. Noctis decides to take it to be both. Tucked away in the corner of the base, Caseus’ quarters are small and homely, and Noctis stands in the doorway and pretends not to stare at all the memorabilia around. It’s probably a given that gang leaders pick up a lot of expensive junk through the years, but this is a little excessive. 

The last job went surprisingly well. Maybe that’s why Noctis was called here. Either way, he was hardly going to say no - not to this man, who has offered him flexible accommodation and even enough money for a little food here and there, this man who has been so useful through this whole mess. Noctis might not like the guy in terms of his manipulative and vaguely off-putting personality, but he can definitely appreciate that without Caseus, he would be dead right now, probably. 

Caseus stretches like a cat. “How long did you say you’ve been in Accordo again?”

“Uh, a year and two months now, sir. Grew up in a border town.”

“Really? Sheltered, then.”

Noctis shrugs. “Uh, yeah. Rough, though, with the MTs and all.”

“Oh, yeah, they do patrol down there, don’t they?” Caseus laughs softly, sitting behind his desk. “Still searching for the hideaway prince.”

Noctis hides his emotions like he’s taught himself how to. “No luck yet.”

“Naturally. I’m sure whoever is hiding that kid away is elite to say the least.” Caseus rolls his eyes. “Alright for some, isn’t it, Somnus?”

“Yeah.”

“To live a life so well-protected.”

“Yeah.”

Caseus levels him with another look. “A man as well-connected as you might know something about that.”

“I haven’t really heard much, I’ll admit. For all we know, the young prince died as a child.” Noctis tries very hard to remember to keep breathing. “It’s not something I ever looked into.”

“It is not? I would’ve thought a young kid like you would be interested in the rebellion.”

Noctis forces a laugh. “Not much time for that, if you want to stay alive.”

“Wiser words I’ve never heard, kid.”

Noctis swallows. “Can I… ask if something happened? To prompt this? Has the prince been spotted?”

“Oh, Gods, no.” Caseus sweeps back his overgrown hair with a long-suffering sigh. “No, I doubt that will happen for a long while. There have just been… whispers, let’s say. People are getting restless. Thinking maybe since Noctis is turning eighteen soon, he should be out of hiding and onto the battlefield, leading the rebellion.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. What do you think about that?”

“I think… well, I think that if people want another soldier on the field so badly, they should fight themselves,” Noctis blurts out. “Even if this kid is still alive, there’s no guarantee that he’s any stronger or smarter for living in hiding for years. Doubt anybody can magically be more gifted than rebel generals who have been fighting since the Fall.”

Caseus raises an eyebrow. “I agree. I must say, though, you appear to be quite knowledgeable, Somnus. Can I ask why?”

“What can I say?” Noctis takes a step back. “I like to keep up with politics.”

This is apparently the answer that Noctis’ boss was looking for, as he nods and smiles. The pair of them say their goodnights and Noctis wanders off into the lower levels of the base to collapse on his bed and fall asleep. He doesn’t even take the time to wonder when all of this got so exhausting. 

**.**

A month or so later, Noctis ends up on a job that isn't so uncommon, but always leaves him unsettled. Stealing from military bases and banks is easy, or taking stock off the hands of shifty figures to bring back to Caseus, but stealing from people’s homes has never been the most pleasant thing. It always manages to put Noctis on edge. 

He’s just edging his way up out of the basement, in fact, lockbox tucked up into his clothes, when he hears the footsteps. Somebody moving around in the main part of the house.

Noctis can't be sure whether they heard him or not, and he goes on his first instinct and pulls out his pistol, flicking off the safety. He slowly, painfully slowly, edges out into the darkened hallway at the top of the stairs and starts creeping down towards the front door, careful not to make a sound. Whoever it is that’s downstairs doesn't seem to know where he is, at least, if they were pursuing him at all. Good.

A floorboard creaks.

Footsteps, coming closer. A young, male voice asks, just out of sight and drawing closer, “Hello? Who’s there?”

Noctis aims his pistol at the opposite end of the hallway just as a young man - wait, no, that’s a kid, probably fifteen or sixteen at most - comes around the corner. Both of them freeze.

“Oh, Gods,” the kid breathes. “Oh, Gods, please, no. Please don't shoot. Please don't.”

“Back against the wall,” Noctis says, glad for the shadows hiding what must be uncertainty on his face. “Hands up. Keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay, okay - look, I swear, whatever it is, I'll do it, just Gods please  _ please _ don't kill me-”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Noctis says in a level tone, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that sounds like Caseus telling him that he’s being too soft. “When your parents get home, tell them that you woke up and found signs of a breakin. You heard nothing. You saw nothing. Understand?”

“Yes! Yes, I understand, I swear, I understand.” The boy nods rapidly, and there are tears streaming down his face now, whole body shaking like a leaf.

“Good.” Noctis backs towards the door and turns the handle down, stepping backwards onto the doorstep. “And, a word of advice - next time, if you see a man with a gun, run.”

Then, before the kid - this kid, crying his heart out after seeing down the barrel of a gun - can answer, Noctis turns around and peels off into the darkness, runs the customary few miles through the shadows before slowing to a light jog. He’s due to pass the stuff off to some contact in an hour or so at the meetup point - some alleyway - and when he gets there, Noctis sits back against the wall and tries not to think too hard about the terror in that kid’s eyes.

About how with a twitch of his finger, he could have taken that young life without a second thought.

Would Kato have ever pointed a gun at a kid so young? Would Clarus, or Cor? 

Is Noctis just lost to it all now?

**.**

The next time he sees Caseus, Noctis wonders as he looks at him if the man has ever killed a person before. 

**.**

A year and seven months after leaving Solheim, Noctis finds himself in a pretty tight situation. Or maybe ‘tight’ is an understatement. It’s not often,  after all, that you find yourself trapped in a cave, the entrance collapsed and a boulder crushing your right leg, with no way out. 

The ceiling shakes a little with each gust of wind outside, the tropical storm growing with each passing minute, and Noctis forces himself to breathe through the pain as he considers his options. The cave isn’t going to hold up much longer, the artifact Noctis was sent here to steal likely long-ago crushed by the falling rocks, and his leg is half-numb, half burning up with unimaginable agony, a bloody mess under the jagged rock he got caught under. The barest scraps of light creep through the gaps in the rocks blocking the entrance, and they illuminate the unstable walls of rock and dust that feel like they’re pressing in more with each second, and oh Gods, Noctis is absolutely fucked at this point. 

Pulling out his radio, Noctis forces himself to take a deep breath and pushes it out between his teeth, hissing loudly and forcing back the pain. The first few people he can think of - Caseus, the leader of Noctis’ base gang, or Fjord, the man who specifically directed him on this job. Caseus would be a good idea, if he wasn’t currently travelling south to meet with another undesirable, and Fjord didn’t seem like the type to care enough to rescue Noctis if he knew that his precious spoils were destroyed. Fuck. 

Okay. There has to be a way out of this somehow. Brain fuzzy and vision bleeding black with the pain, Noctis lets himself yell out, and cuts it off after a few seconds, resolutely forcing back the pain again, hands shaking with it. Then, on instinct, he adjusts the dials until he’s on Kato’s frequency and then hits ‘transmit’.

It takes Kato a few seconds to pick up, and when he does, his voice has never been more welcome, even as he just asks, “Password?”

“Quicksilver, knight, Icarus. Kato- K-Kato, where are you?”

“Som?” Kato sounds intensely concerned then, no jokes or jibes. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I think I might be bleeding out.”

_ “Shit-” _ There’s the sound of a chair scraping back, and Kato’s voice a little muffled as he says to whoever he must be with, “I need to go - sorry, the deal’s off.”

“K-Kato,” Noctis says again, for lack of anything else to say.  _ I don’t want to die. _

“I know, I know, I’m coming. Where are you?” 

“Cave. In the side of- fuck- the mountain over Glassice. Entrance is blocked, collapsed. Kato, I don’t know how long this place is going to hold.”

“Can you move?” There’s wind in the background, like Kato is running. 

“No.”

_ “Shit. _ Fuck, okay, listen, are you listening? You need to pay attention to this.”

“I know. I’m listening, Kato.  _ Ugh,  _ fuck, I’m listening.”

“I’m in central Accordo right now, relatively close to where you are. I have a contact who can get me there, but it’ll be a few hours. Can you hold on?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s the wrong answer, dude.  _ Can you hold on?” _

Noctis swallows hard, lets himself yell out again, hoarse and ragged. _ “Argh, _ yes! Yes, I can hold on, oh Gods,  _ please  _ just fucking hurry, Kato.”

“I promise, I am, I am.” Kato’s voice breaks. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be just fine. Just keep talking to me - remember when you asked me to keep talking to you that time, a few months back? This is like that. This is you repaying me for that. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay. I can do that.”

“Of course you can. And I’m here. I got you. I got you. Until-”

There’s abruptly a slashing crack of static, and then silence. The blinking red light on the top of Noctis’ radio signalling that it’s low on battery flicks off, and Noctis feels unconsciousness take him before he can fight it off. 

**.**

The next time Noctis wakes up, somebody is yelling.

It takes him an indefinite amount of time to figure out what’s happening. Time doesn’t seem to make sense anymore, and his head spins just with the motion of trying to think straight, let alone move. There’s a dull, fuzzy coating to everything, like when you’ve just woken up from a long nap and you’re not really with it yet. 

Somebody is still yelling. It’s getting annoying at this point. Noctis wonders who it could be.

It’s his name, now that he thinks about it - or, at least, one of his names. He has too many at this point. They’re yelling that one particular name he uses with more personal people, like Caseus.  _ Somnus. Somnus. Somnus. _

It’s muffled, like it’s being yelled from the other end of a long tunnel, but it’s definitely him they’re yelling to. He wonders why. Surely they could just talk normally? And if they’re so far away, why don’t they just come in. 

Another name, however, makes Noctis freeze.

“-Kato! It’s me, it’s Kato!” 

It feels like suddenly realising that you’re drowning when you’re already being pulled further down - Noctis is suddenly fighting with all his might against all the fog and the blurriness, forcing himself to try to wake up, blinking hard and squinting until his dust-filled eyes start working again. Sensations come back one by one, and with them gradually seeps in the agony, and Noctis tries with all his might to ignore it. 

“Kato,” he manages to say, and it comes out raspy and barely more than a whisper, but the voice stops yelling. “Kato. ‘M here. Kato.”

A sharp inhale of breath. “Okay, it’s okay, I’m coming-” 

There’s a lot of noise for a while - rocks being moved, low cursing, the deep rumble of the storm outside. Noctis drifts and tries with all his might not to fall into the oblivion again. Tries not to think about how much it hurts, either - just tries to keep his mind on Kato, and how he’ll be here soon, and everything will be better then.

After what feels like an eternity, something falls and then a million other things follow in its wake, rocks and dust scattering out across the floor of the cave as something gives way in the collapse entrance and light floods in. Noctis almost cries with relief. 

Seconds later, Kato is beside him, hugging Noctis hard despite their awkward position, gripping the back of his neck. “Oh, fuck, I was so worried. Jesus Christ, Som.”

“Sorry,” Noctis croaks. “Sorry, Kato.” 

Kato pulls back, teary but determined. “You’re going to be fine. You’re gonna be-  _ fuck,  _ alright, this is going to be tricky, but I’m not giving up for anything, okay?” 

_ Why so much effort for me?  _ Noctis wants to say.  _ Why so much for somebody no one else in the world would care about if they died here? _

Kato looks very sad for a moment. Noctis thinks he might have said that out loud. 

“You did,” Kato says. “Gods, you really don’t get it, do you?”

Bizarrely, for a second, Noctis thinks Kato is going to start laughing or monologuing or something. He looks up into the face of this boy - the only person alive he has that he genuinely cares about - and sees Brutus for a second, and the face of that man from the border town, and Caseus, and everybody Noctis has ever looked at and thought,  _ yes, this person would kill me for a handful of spare change.  _

Noctis blinks and it’s Kato again, wiping his eyes with the back of the sleeve of his big jacket, wren-frail shoulders trembling. 

Then, he passes out. 

**.**

The two of them stay in the same motel room for a week after that incident. It takes Noctis two days and two nights to wake up, tucked under the covers with Kato sitting bleary-eyed at his bedside. His throat is hoarse and his voice doesn’t want to rise above a faint whisper after all the screaming he did, so Kato just gets into the other side of the bed and the two whisper about random shit - about what Noctis has been doing for the last few months, about the type of comics they both used to like as kids.

“I forgot to ask,” Noctis rasps, as the clock ticks past some ludicrously late hour of the night, “What’s your name this time?”

“Oh, well, I was thinking,” Kato whispers back, actually sounding serious, “And I’ve decided that we’re close enough now for me to tell you my actual name, if you’re alright with that. Feel no obligation to tell me yours, of course. I just feel like it’s time for you to know the truth.”

Noctis swallows, and it hurts a little, still. “Of course, dude. Go ahead.”

“It’s Edward,” Kato says, completely deadpan. “Edward Elric.”

Noctis groans, and it comes out as more of an extended puff of whispery air, but it has the desired effect. Kato bursts into peals of quiet giggles as Noctis throws his arms over his face and says, “I hate you, so much. So, so much.”

“I love you too,” Kato says, fond.

“Fuck you. I actually got my-” Noctis breaks off into a brief coughing fit- “h-hopes up for once, man.”

“Aw. Sorry, Som.”

They lapse into silence for a while after that, just staring at each other from either side of the bed. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Noctis’ leg doesn’t even hurt anymore, aside from the odd twinge. Whatever potions Kato has, they work well, and while Noctis will likely always have at least some level of scarring - a limp, too, at least for a while - he’s still alive and he can still walk and that’s a miracle in and of itself. And this boy, in front of him now - he’s a miracle, too. Perhaps an even bigger one. 

“I wish I could tell you,” Kato says, quietly. “My real name, I mean. I trust you more than I trust most people I know, aside from… three people, I think. And none of them are really my friends.”

Noctis nods, like that makes any sense at all. 

“I just- it’s just such a shit world,” Kato huffs, hugging his arms around his chest. His jacket sits on the back of the chair across the small room, and his lean shoulders are bony and bruised. “You can never trust anybody with anything and I’ve been fucked over, so many times, Som. I know you have, too. I just wish things were different.”

“Me, too.” Noctis says. Clears his throat. “Uh. My- my dads, they were great. Never did anything to hurt people. They were just trying to get by, I think, and do all the shit they needed to do. And it’s selfish, but I wish a lot that the world was a better place so they could still be in it, you know? I watched one of them die, listened to the other’s last words over the radio, and I was barely sixteen, and the whole world is so unfair.”

Kato laughs hollowly. “With me, it’s even less… human than that. I hate it, but a part of me doesn’t wish things were better. I don’t pray every night that none of this shit happened to us, this hurt. I just… I just wish it meant something.”

Noctis offers his hand. Kato takes it with his left, skin somehow still cold. Neither of them sleeps well, and Noctis can’t talk again for the entire week. 

He considers telling Kato, and then has a very, very vivid nightmare about Brutus, and decides not to.

**.**

They seperate again, after that week. Kato runs off to carry on walking his very long, very lonely road, and Noctis just runs. 

**.**

Two years in, and Noctis gets his first ray of hope. 

The last two years have been shit, to say the least - all poverty and hunger, the deep and insatiable ache that comes with dehydration and exhaustion, aching feet and an aching heart. Noctis wishes things could have been different, but they weren’t, and so he just sticks around to deal with the way the world really is, and survival isn’t really enough to live on but he makes it work. 

And now, a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday, it might finally all pay off. 

There’s a woman sitting in the main tavern of their base, drinking heavily and conversing with a few of the men. When Noctis asks Caseus who she is, he gets told that she’s somebody important, and to not ask questions. 

She has a patch on the shoulder of her jacket that says, ‘NWC’, with a little cresting wave beneath the letters, and it’s a motif that Noctis has seen before. 

Not in detail, mind. The New Wave aren’t people openly talked about by anybody, not even in the circles Noctis rolls in. But he’s seen that little wave nonetheless - sprayed on walls here and there, embroidered on clothing of certain more mysterious travellers who pass through before Noctis gets a chance to talk to them. There’s not even any proof that that symbol means what Noctis thinks it does, but he has to try. Has to give it a shot, at least. Now might be his only chance. 

So when the tavern begins to empty, the night drawing in and most men retreating to their quarters or to leave for jobs, Noctis crosses the dimly lit room and stands over the woman, clearing his throat. 

She looks up. She’s got a crooked nose like Kato, kind of like it’s been broken before, and brown eyes and a hard-set jaw. She’s beautiful, and frankly pretty terrifying, but Noctis has faced far, far worse at this point.

“Yeah?” the woman says. 

“Do you mind if I borrow you for a word?”

She snorts. “You can if we keep it in here, kid.”

“I don’t think this is the type of information you would want me to divulge when there are… people who could be listening,” Noctis settles on. “This is pretty important, if you really are with the New Wave.”

She glances around skittishly, standing. “Oh Shiva, alright, quit running your mouth. Lead the way, kid.”

Noctis takes her out back, to a secluded alleyway running along the back of the abandoned base, and stands with his back to the wall. She settles just across from him, and neither of them speaks for a handful of seconds, just sizing each other up for a while. Noctis tries not to fidget, or flinch. No time for weakness, especially now. 

“Alright, out with it, then,” the woman says after a moment, irritable. “What’s so important?”

“I grew up in Solheim,” Noctis says. “In the ruins. Underground, mostly - never saw the mainland until I turned sixteen and my caretakers passed. I’ve been working mostly illegally ever since. Waiting to catch up with the people my caretakers told me to find. They… set out a path for me.”

The woman looks increasingly impatient. “If you’re saying you want in with my people, we don’t just take in random strangers, kid. Go find Highwind in Gralea if you want a grunt’s job-”

“It’s me,” Noctis rushes out, and the woman stops. As if she senses that this is important. 

“...What’s you?”

“It’s me - I’m Noctis.” Noctis swallows around the hard lump in his throat. “Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please leave a comment if you can. they're my lifeblood and they're kinda thin on the ground right now! <3 i hope you enjoyed!


	5. Giving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of bad and rushed but enjoy!

******.**

The woman stares. 

A weight feels like it’s slowly but surely pushing off of Noctis’ heavy shoulders - not entirely gone yet, not even close, but leaving. This might finally be it. Might as last be the end of all of this crap - might really mean that Noctis can find the leader of the New Wave, can get protection and relief from this burden. It’s hard not to feel ecstatic. 

All of this is  _ finally  _ coming to an end. 

No more running. No more hiding. No more barely-stifled grief, pushed down and down until Noctis can just about convince himself that he can’t feel it anymore. No more anxiety about where Noctis’ next meal is going to come from. No more fear. Maybe Noctis can even make Cor and Clarus proud after three years of living like this. 

And then the woman starts laughing. 

It feels like somebody has poured ice water down the back of Noctis’ shirt - he feels his heart stop, a rush of cold panic hit him like a tide. The woman isn’t properly laughing like Brutus did, just chuckling, but oh, Gods, she’s laughing.  _ She’s laughing.  _

Noctis’ eyes start to sting, and a heady rush of panic throbs through him. 

“Yeah, okay, sure.” The woman folds her arms over her chest. 

Noctis swallows. “W-What-”

“You have no idea how much we hear that.”

“I swear, to every God-”

“Stop, kid.” The woman sighs, no longer laughing. “Stop. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but to make an example, I will.”

Noctis is shaking at this point. “I don’t know what I need to do, or say, but I will- I’ve been searching for the New Wave for two years, Gods, please don’t-”

Then, the woman is abruptly right up in Noctis’ face. She doesn’t grab his collar like Brutus did - doesn’t strike his face, but her steel-toed boot rams into Noctis’ shin and strikes a scorching pain there, and one of her elbows jabs hard into his stomach. They both hit the wall, Noctis’ back slamming into it, nowhere to escape to. 

“Listen to me,” the woman says, voice low and fierce, “The New Wave doesn’t exist to cater to wannabe heroes, or whatever the fuck you’re trying to be. We’re not here to mess around. If you really want to work for us, come find us and work your way up from the bottom. Don’t make up shitty stories about being the son of the King you don’t even look anything like, you sorry sack of shit. We get this all the goddamn time, you have no idea.”

Noctis knows, in that moment, that he has to do something. 

Warp, maybe - that would prove that he’s connected to the crystal. Clarus’ ring is still on his finger, the Amicitia family crest embossed into the metal. He could talk about Cor and Clarus, tell her things that only the real prince would know - or he could even just tell his story, the whole miserable thing, enough of it that the tan and the hair and the scar make sense. He could do any of it. He could beg and plead. 

But the cold is rushing up into his head - Noctis can feel his pulse roaring in his ears, pounding loud enough to drown out everything else, crashing in and on him. The woman looks abruptly so much like Brutus, memories rushing back so vividly that Noctis can feel the pain in his face and the back of his neck, the alleyway no longer really present. 

He should be doing a million things right now, but it’s hard to think straight when he can’t even  _ breathe. _

_ You failed. You failed. _

At some point, the woman drops him. Noctis drops like his newly-repaired strings have just given in and broken again, curls back against the wall and tries desperately to draw breath in closed-up lungs. Her boots linger in front of him for a second, and Noctis presses backwards and tries desperately to protect his face with his arms, hyperventilating at this point. He can’t fathom why his body is fighting this so much, why he’s unable to breathe and stand up and just  _ do something.  _ Brutus’ face sneers behind his eyes every time he closes them. He waits for a kick to the face. 

The boots linger a second more, and then turn and walk away, back up the alleyway. 

And Noctis is alone. 

**.**

It takes at least an hour for him to be able to stand up again, still shaking a little. At the risk of running into the woman again, Noctis takes the long way around to his room, creeping through the back entrance and down into the lower levels of the crumbling base. He feels spaced-out from his own body, like he’s shaken out of his own skin. Caught somewhere between cursing his own inactivity (having a fucking flashback when talking to the single most important person he’s talked to in years, god, he’s  _ so fucking stupid). _

By the time he gets back to is room, Noctis is bone-deep exhausted. He flops down onto his bed and passes out. 

**.**

Nothing feels like it means much anymore. 

Noctis finally did it, after all - found one of the New Wave, talked to them, confessed his identity. Bared his whole self open, in some grubby alleyway, with no hope left but this single chance of acceptance. Exposed it all and prayed for mercy. 

And it didn’t work.

He drifts through the motions for a few weeks without really feeling it. Throws himself into jobs to keep from sleeping - after all, the exhaustion is far better than the nightmares. Caseus seems to know that something has happened, but doesn’t ask, only watches Noctis with a keen eye whenever they’re in the same room. The days drift by without any consequence. Noctis thinks if he was to die on one of these jobs, nobody would really care. Kato doesn’t call.

The woman is long gone, and Noctis’ shin bruises bright purple, all blotchy and spotty with damage, and the bruise lingers for weeks. His stomach stays tender for a while, too. None of it hurts nearly as much as the rejection, but even that stops aching after a while. Numbness - maybe from the lack of sleep, or the pain, or just from everything - takes over. 

Three months pass before Noctis realises that they’re gone. 

Four months after it all, he’s working a little espionage gig in some underground gathering - just taking notes, taking information, Caseus’ commands sitting heavy on his shoulders. There’s quiet chatter - people moving around, making deals, talking to informants. Drug dealers and revolutionaries alike, and everything in between, meeting to negotiate in a place in which no Imperial ears can hear. Noctis linger in a corner and just observes for a while.

Then, he catches sight of him. 

Kato is wandering through the crowds, alongside another man, this one taller and older-looking, with a thin scar over his eye and arms like tree trunks. Kato’s still so small and slight, with that too-large jacket, so out of place here. Noctis doesn’t pay much attention to the man at his side, or to anything else, really. The only thing in the whole room that seems to exist, like something out of a shitty romance novel, is Kato. 

Noctis abandons his notes, shoves them into his pocket, and pushes through the throngs of people without much regard for who he shoves. As he gets closer, he sees the other man look up, suspicion in his face, but then Kato glances around and meets his gaze, and Noctis  _ feels  _ something for the first time in months. 

“Kato!”

“Somnus!”

The fond, brilliant smile on Kato’s face spreads and seems to make the whole room light up, and the two meet somewhere in the middle, hugging tightly, Kato’s hands fisted in the back of Noctis’ jacket. Over Kato’s shoulder, Noctis catches sight of the boy’s companion stepping back, confused.

Kato pulls away. “Dude! What are you doing here? Didn’t think this would be your kind of scene.”

“Well, y’know.” Noctis is used to lying and making excuses, but with Kato, every word he’s supposed to be saying flies away. “Just doing what I have to do.”

Kato leans back, getting a good look at Noctis, and this feels like  déjà vu . “Somnus…”

“Yes, I know, I look like crap-”

“No, dude, you really do look like crap. Like, seriously. What  _ happened  _ to you?”

Noctis shrugs. “Nothing big. Nothing important. I’m fine.”

“You’re  _ not-” _

Kato’s companion coughs, a little irritably. “I don’t know who this guy is, kid, but I think you two can reunite another time.”

“Oh, uh-” Kato scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, looking between Noctis and the man. “Can’t we, like, take a minute outside - this guy is important, man, bear with me here-”

Then, just like that, Noctis catches sight of the  _ NWC _ patch on the man’s shoulder.

It’s not too noticeable, not as big as the woman’s was, but Noctis knows immediately what it is. What it means. What that little cresting wave entails. 

In his pockets, he feels his hands start to shake.

“I need to go,” Noctis hears himself say, stiff and uncomfortable. “We can talk another time.”

_ Kato’s with them. Kato’s with them.  _

“Som?” Kato asks, quietly. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

_ Kato’s one of them. This whole time. If you’d have ever told him, maybe he would have laughed in your face, too. _

“I just- I need to go.” Noctis feels himself backing up.

The larger man follows him back, trying to get a good look at Noctis. They’re starting to make a scene - people are turning, watching. Kato puts a hand on the man’s broad chest to hold him back and turns wide, confused eyes to Noctis. 

“Is it somebody? My friend and I can protect you - we can help, Som, just tell me what’s happened-”

Kato reaches out to put a hand on Noctis’ shoulder and Noctis lashes out, all of that pressed down anger and fear bubbling up. Kato yelps and then he’s suddenly on the ground, his companion yelling out in anger and shock, and Noctis slips under the man’s outstretched arm and runs for the exit. Somebody tries to catch his arm and he kicks out and struggles until they let go, and then dives desperately for the door.

Somehow - Notis won’t remember it later - he gets out and just runs, cold night air biting on his skin. It’s windy, rain just beginning to pick, and Noctis doesn’t pay attention to a single thing around him, just sprints until his whole body aches. In his jacket, his radio crackles, a transmission coming through from Kato, and Noctis reaches with fumbling hands to take out the batteries just to shut the damn thing up. His heart aches, deep in his chest, and Noctis wishes that the numbness would come back. 

And this is it - this is the moment, after all this time, that Noctis has truly lost absolutely everything. 

**.**

Noctis drifts. 

**.**

More months pass.

Eventually, Noctis stops going back to Caseus, quits taking jobs for good, and when the man calls, Noctis answers only to tell him that he’s cut ties for good. Caseus hangs up on him, and Noctis regrets it a second later, because the hard bite of loneliness burns more harshly than he could have ever imagined it would. 

When he tries to call back three hours later, Caseus doesn’t respond. Two months later, Noctis - skulking around in a shady tavern, sticking to the shadows like that’s what he was born to do - hears from a traveller that Caseus’ empire has crashed and burned, just like it was always going to. 

**.**

Eventually, Kato stops calling. 

**.**

Noctis loses himself after a while, stops trying. Alleyways and hostels become his home, and the sparse jobs he was working eventually run thin and run out. He hops town every few days, steals when he can and goes without food when he can’t. 

The prophecy - the Gods, and Cor, and Noctis’ father - all of it feels so far away now. Long-gone, like Noctis had a shot at glory and missed, like he lost the only chance he was ever going to get to fulfil his destiny. Kato is gone now, after all, and Caseus, and every other thing Noctis has ever had. He feels apathetic and careless, and not in a good way - more like he gave up a long time ago, and now he’s stuck waiting for something to off him, whether it be the hunger or the violence on the Accordian streets. 

Moving closer to Altissia makes it a little easier. Altissia itself is almost impossible, swarmed with MTs and probably one of the most dangerous places to be in the world at this point, but it’s a little busier in the towns near the capital, easier to slip into the crowds and disappear. Noctis settles down and works odd jobs here and there, just about managing to keep a roof over his head (most days, anyway). He thinks the rest of his life is probably going to be like this. 

When he isn’t so blinded by his goals, and not running around doing Caseus’ dirty work, Noctis actually has time to take in what the world is really like, for the first time in nearly three years. It isn’t pretty - MTs are the Gods here, not that anybody really has much faith in higher powers anymore, and their rule is harsh and unyielding. It wasn’t so bad in the smaller towns, but here there are regular weapon checks and raids, the Empire not willing to give any breathing room to the people regardless of whether they really are criminals or just regular citizens. 

It’s worse, if anything, in the slums where Noctis spends most of his time. Anybody and everybody, from storeowners to vagrants to children, is on guard, just waiting for the day when they get their house broken into the middle of the night and a troop of MTs drag them out onto the street to make an example of them. Anything from petty theft to murder can get you strung up, and talking unfavourably about the Empire is never a good idea. There are ears everywhere. New bodies hang from the skeletons of trees every day, drifting in the wind with nobody daring to take them down. 

Noctis is stuck in a confusing place about it all. A part of him - a very big part - is still numb, uncomprehending. Like he can’t bring himself to care much about anything now that he’s lost everything. Another part of him, however, cares an astounding amount; he wants to help, wants to stand up and fight for these people at the very bottom of the ladder, wants to carry out whatever destiny Cor and the Gods set out for him if it means saving them from lives of pain and fear. 

But he is powerless. And if his destiny was ever to live on, to fight and die for the people and to save them from this, then destiny is a weaker force than fear and Noctis is a coward, through and through. 

**.**

Kato doesn’t ever call again.

Noctis thinks maybe he met with that woman. It makes a bitter, ugly shame rise up in his stomach to think about the three of them - Kato, the woman and the man with the scarred face - realising that they met the same person. The woman telling Kato about her encounter with an attention-seeking kid who cried like a baby when she threatened him. Kato laughing and saying,  _ well, never calling that dude again. Yikes!  _

Thinking like this hurts, and it’s unproductive, but Noctis figures that it’s the only way to cut his losses. Moving on is essential in a world as cold as this one, where everybody has lost something and nobody has time to cry about it. 

In the bad nights, Noctis still wants to call Kato, sometimes. He doesn’t wake up screaming anymore, sure, mostly because he doesn’t really have the ability to be so vocal with how little his speaks nowadays. But the night terrors are still very bad, and the flashbacks worse than that, and Noctis sometimes just yearns to hear a voice, whether it be friendly or otherwise. He always manages to hold himself back, though, even if he does keep his radio stocked with batteries.  _ Just in case, _ he tells himself, and it’s a lie. 

So this is where he simply stays, for an indefinite amount of time. A thief, on the streets of a town near Altissia, in a broken world filled with broken people. A runaway with nowhere to turn, who lost absolutely everything because he was young and stupid and broken, too. Lost, and going to stay lost for the rest of his days. 

**.**

One day really cements it.

The long and short of it is that Noctis gets caught up with the wrong people, some inner-city gang who sometimes roll down to the slums just to laugh at all the bodies. Like an idiot, he asked to exchange a long-term thievery job with them for protection, and like they could see right through Noctis to the scared kid behind the overgrown hair and knew what they could do to him, they said yes.

The first job goes okay. They’re a little gang, not exactly humble but still too small to be running with the big boys, and though they’re vicious and cutthroat, Noctis is used to dealing with vicious, cutthroat people. He gets what they need from the inside of a desk in some hotshot police chief’s desk and hands it off to them, and they call him again four days later, asking for something else. 

The jobs are all easy enough. They go on for a few weeks, and then Noctis fucks up a job and comes back empty-handed, and the leader of the gang (obviously just a kid too, but far more vicious) breaks Noctis’ nose and knives him in the gut and leaves him for dead. 

**.**

Noctis has to convince himself for a long time that it’s worth dragging himself to safety and patching himself up. 

**.**

On the three-year anniversary of Cor’s death, Noctis decides that he’s pretty much done at this point. 

It’s been a while since he truly put an effort into living. He could have died a long time ago, Noctis thinks, and he himself wouldn’t have noticed. Since Kato stopped calling and Caseus’ gang slipped far behind him, there hasn’t been much reason to keep on pushing forwards. 

But now, whatever little amount of self-preservation that had been left is gone. Not showing signs of returning. 

Noctis settles down in the bed he’s scored for the night, bodies hanging from the trees on the street outside and MTs clanking up and down and up and down across the concrete. It would be far too obvious to put on a light (nobody does at night, at risk of being raided or robbed) so he just lets his eyes adjust to the darkness and decides to buck up the courage to call Kato, one last time, to tell the kid not to expect to hear from Noctis again. Even if Kato hates him now (and Noctis wouldn’t be surprised), he deserves to know. There is nobody else Noctis can think of to tell. 

It was always Kato, after all. Always him to swoop in and save the day. Always him to keep Noctis clinging on, even after Brutus and everything else. Noctis thinks he might have even loved the guy, eventually - with his bright eyes and scars, blinding smiles framed by gaunt cheeks. That familiar rush of warmth that used to come to Noctis’ chest whenever he thought about Kato has faded and died with time, and now only a little trace of familiarity remains, bittersweet and longing. 

The radio sits tantalisingly in front of him, little green light on the top blinking on occasionally. Kato’s frequency was the last he put in, and it’s still locked on. All Noctis has to do is press transmit, and for a while he thinks he might not even be able to do that. 

“Fuck it,” Noctis says to himself, eventually. Fuck being afriad. Fuck waiting. 

If he’s going to die soon (which he is, because in this world unless you’re actively trying to survive you’ll be dead quicker than blinking), then he isn’t going to die being afraid. 

Noctis reaches forwards and cradles the scratched, battered old radio in his hands, and stretches his thumb to the transmit button-

-And before he can reach it, the radio lights up and bursts to life with a splutter of static.

It’s still on Kato’s frequency. Kato is calling him. 

Noctis picks up without even a second of hesitation. 

“Password.”

“-Fledgling!” Kato’s voice gasps back, too close to the receiver. 

There are yells and gunshots in the background. This feels far too familiar. 

“Fledgling- fledgling, it’s fledgling-”

“...Kato?” Noctis forces his mouth to say, fumbling with the words. “What’s happening?”

Kato gasps and coughs, desperate. “I know it’s been a while, and I’m so sorry, but- are you willing to help me, just this once?”

“Always,” Noctis has said before he can even think about it. “Always, Kato.”

“Then- they found me-” Kato makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, and there’s a sound like a sonic boom in the distance. 

“What? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how,” Kato says, meaning in every syllable, “But they found me.”

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment if you can!


	6. Heart of Chrome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i'm a little busy right now! <3 enjoy!  
> (side note - the support for the last chapter was ASTRONOMICAL. i love you all, oh my god, thank you <3<3<3)

******.**

The radio cuts out in a buzz of static.

It’s unbearably frustrating. The boy can’t even properly throw the damn thing, tied up as he is, and has to drop it to the floor instead when his hand finally gets tired. Every inch of him aches, wrists stinging, biceps straining, legs a wall of agony. 

He knows there’s no point in calling any of the others. Nobody tends to stray as far south as this aside from him - not his older brother, not his older sister, not even his leader. None of them would be able to get here, and Prompto doesn’t want to put his death on any of their shoulders. The Gods know how good they’ve been to him, after all. They don’t deserve that - it will be better like this, if Somnus can’t get to him in time. Let the boy simply stop replying to calls one day. Let him fade. Let the rest of them live on. 

But still; he refuses to give up hope just yet. Not when Somnus is coming. 

Even the thought of that kid is enough to make things feel a little less dire. Oh, Somnus - silent, sullen, broken Som, always with new bruises, that scar slashed so deep into his nose that the impact must have broken when he first got it. It’s been so long since the boy saw Somnus’ smile that he’s almost forgotten what it looked like. After all, he could only carry on calling every waking hour for so long before his brother threatened to confiscate his radio and the boy had to give up. 

He still doesn’t know what he did, mind. It must have been bad, for Som to just disappear like he did. The boy figures he was always going to mess it up eventually - it just sucks that it happened before he could even find out what it was that Somnus was running from. 

(The boy knows what a person looks like when they’re running. Takes one to know one, after all.)

He wonders if Somnus has started running yet. How he’s even going to get here. If he’s going to get hurt. The guilt festers, but it’s too late to go back now - and Som was never the type to be scared of pain, really, not with how much he’s put his body through in all these years. The thought of seeing Somnus’ face, even as hopeless and sallow as it’s gotten in the last three years, is enough to keep the boy clinging onto hope, just for now, for as long as he can. 

Or maybe it isn’t that at all. After all, not having the capacity to give up is programmed into your code when they make you in a place like this. 

Prompto would know.

**.**

The wind has picked up through the night, howling and roaring with renewed vigour as it rushes up from the ocean - a storm is coming, and by daylight it will hit with a force unpresidented. Noctis has been running for over an hour at this point, and his destination looms in the distance, a huge, hulking shadow of a building silhouetted against the polluted night air. Rain pours.

_ They found me,  _ Kato had said.  _ I don’t know how, but they found me. _

Noctis hadn’t bothered to ask who  _ they  _ were, hadn’t even bothered to ask if Kato was okay. The answer to both questions had been obvious, and Kato had been too panicked to say much more than was completely necessary. Imprisoned in the MT production facility in Altissia, he’d said. He hadn’t wanted to call, but he didn’t want to die, went unsaid, but had rung loud and clear between them. 

_ I’m coming to get you,  _ Noctis had said, and hung up out of fear of having the call end in impenetrable static in the same way that his last call with Cor had. 

The MT production facility lies technically outside of the city limits of Altissia, the city itself being an island as opposed to being on the mainland of Accordo. The facility itself is an eyesore on the coast, stuck into the earth like a sword, towering up and up with towers and cranes and scaffolding encrusted to its dark metal walls like an oil rig. It’s a factory, before anything else. A production line, pouring smoke into the sky as it puts together the pieces of the cannon fodder the Empire calls the Magitek. 

Noctis didn’t have to run for long to reach it - he’s fast, and enduring, and very, very used to running at this point. He managed to catch a ride part of the way there too, curled up in the truck bed of the vehicle of a dark-eyed man who didn’t ask questions. 

And now he just runs the rest of the way, only his radio and a pocket knife on him. Defenseless, and with no plan, and exhausted.

The rain picks up as Noctis crashes down onto the main road, empty of cars and in disrepair, leading up to the factory. He can hear his pulse racing in his ears, aching legs begging him to stop, and only runs harder, hair drenched and clothes soaked through, wind buffeting him back. Ahead, the red lights of the huge structure make the flooded road glimmer with little pools of light, as beautiful as they are foreboding. There is nobody on this road, which has been out of use since the Empire started using dropships and bergs fully to transport goods and MTs alike to and from the factory. Noctis runs alone. 

(In the back of his mind, Noctis acknowledges that he hasn’t once stopped to consider not going. That he hasn’t for a second thought that maybe he doesn’t owe Kato anything - that they cut their ties and now Noctis could just leave the kid to rot.

It’s not even an option.)

The pure  _ fear  _ in Kato’s voice was what did it, maybe. Through their whole run, every time they met, Kato was always the one saving Noctis, even if he didn’t realise it. The one thing tethering him back from the edge every time he got too close to it. Even literally - like in the cave, or when they first met on the border. Kato’s always been… not the strong one, per se, but Noctis is a mess and has been for a long time, and Kato’s never seemed to need to be rescued by him when he’s got other people who can do the job. 

But still. He had sounded so scared.

Noctis hadn’t even thought twice about saying yes, in the face of all that fear. 

There are guard MTs stationed outside of the hulking metal gates into the production facility, four of them altogether, all holding rifles and standing so still that they might as well be scrap-metal statues. Noctis slows and creeps the last few hundred feet, sticking to the shadows along the side of the road and being careful not to splash in the puddles too much (not that it would matter - the wind and rain drown out all sound, leaving the world in a strange, noisy blur).

They’re easy enough to sneak past. Noctis kicks a pebble and sends it skittering across the ground from the treeline to clang against the fence, and all four guards jerk around like malfunctioning cyborgs, looking mechnically for the source of the vibrations. Noctis kicks another pebble, and another, both making the metal crash like a gong as they hit, and three of the guards troop over to investigate. Sneaking past the fourth is child’s play compared to the kind of stealth Noctis is used to. 

Then, he’s in. 

And Noctis realises pretty quickly that he has no idea what he’s doing. 

It’s not the most alarming realisation. Not having any idea what he’s doing is Noctis’ comfort zone, at this point. 

Sneaking into the facility once he’s past the gates is easy enough - all the guards are MTs, and MTs may be terrifying in numbers but they’re dumb and honestly pretty pathetic when they’re alone, or in little clumps at doorways, rifles slung across their metal torsos. Noctis only has to take down a few of them in the end, and does so silently, wrestling their hollow metal bodies to the ground and twisting their wiry necks until the circuitry inside snaps. 

It’s…  _ creepy  _ in the facility, for lack of a better word. The only thing Noctis can compare it to is a prison of sorts, or a keep - the walls are all dark concrete, thick and impenetrable, and the narrow corridors are sparsely lit, the air too thick with dust for the circles of dull light affixed to the ceiling to penetrate it much. The distant clanging of MTs trooping the halls is omnipresent. The air smells like iron, and Noctis’ mind convinces himself that it’s blood.

Down what feels like a thousand long, metal hallways, Noctis finally reaches an elevator. It looks out of use - old and rusted, coated with limescale - but when he presses the button on the side, the doors creak and clang open, and Noctis steps in. 

First order of business: find a map of this place. Kato has to be  _ somewhere.  _

By the time Noctis finds something of use, he’s cleared out the second flood and progressed to the third. 

They know he’s here, by now. This he’s sure of, more than he has been of anything for a while - after all, it’s impossible that this place is devoid of humans entirely. There are cameras everywhere, and they follow Noctis up and down each identical hallway. Every time he downs an MT, a little spot on the back of its neck lights up red, likely transmitting one last ping before the power in its body dies out entirely. 

Yes. The people who run this place definitely know that Noctis is here. 

He doesn’t have the time to worry about that right now, though. For now, Noctis just carries on moving, until he reaches the first unlocked door he’s come across in the whole facility, on the third floor. He’s so taken off guard that it actually opens when he rams himself into it that his weight overbalances him and he topples to the ground, throwing his hands out to catch himself before he can break his face on the cold ground. It only takes a few seconds for him to scramble up and right himself against the door, but a rush of adrenaline hits anyway. Noctis knows he might have to run in seconds. 

The room is empty, though. It’s sort of a lab, though there are desks across one side of the room with monitors and keyboards sitting abandoned on their chrome surfaces. The other side of the room is bisected by rows of benches, all stacked with metal frames containing everything from multicoloured test tubes to papers to crucibles, funnels, burners and millions of other bits and pieces of apparatus that Noctis can’t name. He doesn’t look too closely at the larger translucent tubes stretching up across the left wall, scared of what he’ll see. 

Noctis doesn’t have long. Paranoid that somebody is going to slam the door from the outside and lock him in this silent, sterile room, he darts for a nearby bench and starts ripping through sheafs of paper, searching desperately for anything that could help in locating Kato. Finally finding something - a map, crumpled and stained with coffee rings - is a Godsend. 

Noctis tears out of the room and doesn’t look back. The map tells him that the holding cells are on the seventh floor and it’s going to be tough to get up there, especially if Noctis just sticks to the out-of-commission elevators and not the ones that go more than one floor, for Shiva’s sake. 

Still. No time for pessimism now. Noctis has a sunshine to save. 

**.**

When four new guards - human ones this time, armed to the teeth and wary - station themselves outside of Prompto’s cell, Prompto figures that  _ yep, Somnus got in.  _

It’s obvious what these people’s game must be. Being a production facility as opposed to a military base or an Imperial headquarters, this place isn’t home to much aside from the odd production manager, a few engineers and scientists, and many, many, many MTs. Figures that there would only be a handful of humans who can actually fight in this damned place - and they’re all probably spreading out to trap the newcomer, get him before he can get them. It’s cowardly, but it’ll work, unless Som is smart enough to guess what their plan is. 

Prompto prays and prays that he is, and struggles subtly against his bonds again, testing them just in case. His toes brush the ground - before, he was able to stand up properly, but he’s long since lost all strength in his legs and now only his arms hold him up. The burn across his shoulders is so bad that Prompto can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s gone numb. That all the muscle and tissue that once resided there has long-since died. 

Almost.

_ Hurry up, Som, _ Prompto finds himself thinking, with more desperation than he’d like to admit.  _ I don’t think I can last much longer like this.  _

**.**

Five floors up, Noctis runs into his first properly set-up attack. 

As soon as he exits the rusty old elevator, they’re on him - six or more MTs, all clanking and groaning and screeching in that inhuman way they do as they descend on Noctis. They’re all armed with swords this time, not rifles, and Noctis yanks out his pocket knife and thanks Cor and Shiva and everything in between that he’s used to fighting dirty. 

The first MT reaches him, and Noctis throws himself into the fight with every last dreg of strength he possesses. He prays it’s enough. 

**.**

One of the guards outside receives a transmission at one point, his radio more static and crackle that coherent words, and Prompto doesn’t catch what the person on the other end says. The guards seem to get it, though, and whatever it is must worry them because they all shift a little, uneasy, standing up straighter and holding their weapons tighter. One of them glances over his shoulder at Prompto with a look in his eyes that Prompto knows well, that says clearly,  _ I have no idea what this little punk could have done to get somebody to fight for him, but I don’t appreciate it.  _

Prompto almost feels bad for them, in a weird way. These four are all relatively young, clutching their guns like they could shoot the sun dead if it started falling towards earth, like guns can do anything against the things that go bump in the night in this world. Obviously, none of them get into situations like this often. Fresh from some academy in Niflheim, probably. Not ready for the prospect of dying like martyrs, no matter how important the Empire has told them all it is. 

He hopes Somnus spares them, but somehow also hopes that he makes them  _ hurt  _ \- because these chains hurt, and Prompto is so sick of feeling things.

**.**

The seventh floor, unlike all the other floors, is completely silent. No MTs waiting for Noctis at the elevator, like there have been for the last couple of floors. No distant clangs of trooping metal. It’s almost eerie - it should be reassuring that there are no MTs on this floor for Noctis to have to fight. At the same time, however, Noctis can’t help but feel ten times more foreboding. This is the floor where he’s going to have to fight people, after all - and fighting MTs is easy when all they can do is scream once and then die, but people are a lot more complicated. 

Nevertheless, Noctis persists. 

The seventh floor is noticeably different from all the others in other ways, too. The ceiling is lower, feeling almost crushing, and the air is thicker. The smell of iron is still strong and overwhelming, but it’s noticeably less like metal and more like death this time. The walls are lined with empty concrete cells, and some of their interiors are stained with the dark, reddish brown residue of old blood. 

Three corridors down, Noctis runs into his first human guards. There are only two of them, and they try and fail to ambush him from behind, both of them stealing out of an alcove and the first lunging to hit Noctis over the back of the head with the butt of his sword. Noctis hears it coming a mile away and ducks, just like Clarus taught him, and rolls, and plunges his knife into the man’s shin on the way past. 

The man goes down like a stone, yelling, and his companion yells out in outrage and swings her sword down at Noctis. He barely manages to avoid a fatal blow this time - she’s good, better with her blade than her clumsy partner. 

Still, she isn’t good enough. Noctis scrambles backwards and to his feet and then lunges forwards and feints to the side at the last moment, sweeping his leg out to unbalance the guard. She stumbles but doesn’t fall, but her sword goes a little lax in her grip and Noctis bats it out of her hands and to the floor. It clatters away noisily, and the woman has time to take two stumbling steps backwards and snarl something throaty in Niff. Then, Noctis knocks her out. 

She goes down hard. The other guard is trying and failing to get up, bleeding absolutely everywhere and shaking, and Noctis puts him out of his misery with the flat side of his boot. 

Just around the next corner come two more guards. Noctis figures he must be getting close, and only has time to wonder vaguely why Prompto is being so heavily guarded before he’s fighting again, a gargantuan man coming at him flailing his broadsword. 

Noctis gets out of this particular scuffle a little less untouched, this time nursing a shoulder with a chunk missing - it’s bleeding, though not as much as it could be, and both new guards are out cold on the ground, so Noctis figures he got off the lucky one. He thanks the Gods for the existence of adrenaline to take away the probably unimaginable pain that would be overtaking him right now if it wasn’t for the numbness, and carries on running. 

**.**

There’s a commotion in the hallways - Prompto can’t hear it, per se, but he can feel it. The thick air, catching the sparse shards of light pouring down from the ceiling lights above him, feels like stagnant and more electric with each passing minute. The guards are all tense shoulders and shifty eyes. That one guy keeps looking back at Prompto, and Prompto grins with too many teeth at him until he looks away. 

Somnus is coming. Somnus is coming, and he just has to last a little longer before that stupid, brilliant asshole breaks in and lets him down from this hellish contraption, and the two of them can run off into the sunset like something out of a comic book. Or maybe it’s the sunrise. Prompto’s been here so long that he can’t really tell. 

Somewhere in the distance, somebody yells, then somebody else. The noises get closer, and closer. 

Prompto shifts so the cuff on his right wrist covers the barcode, and wills Noctis to come running around the corner at the top of the corridor. 

**.**

The pain catches up all in a rush, burning up inside Noctis’ body like somebody has lit a match and set off a million bombs beneath his skin. Noctis physically stumbles to a halt as it hits him, rendering him breathless and shaky. His shoulder burns like fire, as well as the crown of his head, where an MT landed a hit earlier. There’s an intense pain burning behind one of his eyes that Noctis thinks might be the exhaustion kicking in, and one of his legs is bleeding from a hit he can’t remember taking.

He looks back at the trail of blood drops he’s left, and forces himself to keep running. 

All thoughts of Kato are gone - all thoughts of anything, really, are all gone. Noctis can barely remember why he even came here at this point. The blood pounding in his ears and the pain drown everything out, and it’s only when he pulls around another corner and meets those bright blue eyes that clarity comes rushing back in like a tide.

Rounding that corner should, by all rights, be terrifying. There are four guards stationed outside of Kato’s cell, all with their swords drawn, and Noctis is barely standing at this point. They’re all tense and ready, straining to advance, and Noctis knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can’t take all of them, not with the shape that he’s in. 

But past them - through slatted iron bars and inside the cell right at the end of the hallway - is Kato, strung up like a human sacrifice, arms pulled up at either side of him like some grotesque scarecrow. He’s bloodied too, face more purple than pale, and his blue eyes are hooded with pain and exhaustion but they bore right into Noctis’, staring right into the center of him with an expression that says clearly, even without the growing grin,  _ yeah, I knew you’d be here.  _

The guards start advancing, all four of them sprinting, and Noctis grins right back at Kato, pulling himself up as straight as he can and throwing aside his bent, dented pocket knife. 

Then, Noctis feels something in his chest release, like a key turning in a lock, and the world explodes into bright white light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment if you can! they help so much!


	7. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick update this time! thanks for all the comments, you guys are AMAZING <3 enjoy!
> 
> btw, little tibit: i tend to use songs a lot as character inspiration. if anybody's interested, 'little lion man' by mumford and sons is PERFECT for prom and noctis in this au (first verse for noctis, second very for prompto, the chorus kinda fits both of them). let me know if you listen to it and tell me what you think! it's an awesome song with super interesting lyrics. <3

******.**

Prompto really did think he’d seen everything. He’s had a pretty eventful life at this point, been everywhere from northernmost Niflheim to right down on the southern border of Accordo. He’s met friends and enemies alike, spent time everywhere from military bases and large, rich expanses of Niff nobility to the streets. Prompto might be young, but he’s pretty used to being surprised. 

And now, he watches as Somnus grins at him from the other end of the hallway, drops his knife, and explodes.

It’s less of an explosion, perhaps - more of a huge pulse of  _ power, _ a sonic boom of bright white light and a broad crash of noise that stops the guards in their tracks. The light expands outwards, rushing down the corridor like a flood with a loud, low  _ whoom _ of sound growing and crackling as the light hits the guards and turns them all into wobbly black silhouettes. Prompto squeezes his eyes shut against it, hearing the guards yelling out in confusion and panic, and only has a moment to think  _ okay, well, this is a lot more than just knowing how to warp.  _

When Som had said he was gifted, he must have meant it. 

There’s suddenly another swell of tumultuous noise - it sounds kind of like the open, hollow crack and crash of concrete being smashed apart, but multiplied a million times over, an earthquake rumbling into motion in the space of half a second. The ground shakes beneath Prompto, rattling the chains and cuffs keeping him restrained, a low rumbling growing and growing until it’s a wall of sound that surrounds everything. The guards are yelling, and the whole world seems like it’s shattering apart - walls falling, glass shattering distantly, metal clanging and breaking in a cacophony of noise. Prompto thinks he feels one of his eardrums pop.

Eventually, the light dies slightly behind Prompto’s eyelids, and he risks opening one eye a little, peering out of the cell. It takes him a moment to blink dark spots out of his eyes, trying to get his eyes to focus again, the world a mash of shapes and colours that slowly bleeds into clarity. What Prompto sees when he’s able to process the world again is, in a word, terrifying. 

Two of the guards are on the ground, though it doesn’t look like they’ve been attacked directly. All four of them are yelling, to each other and to their enemy, and Somnus himself is still standing at the other end of the hallway where he was. Now, however, he’s shrouded by that alien white light, seeming to exude from just beneath his skin, in his blood, lighting up the veins beneath his wrists and making the whole area glow. 

Behind Somnus, a single monstrously huge hand is rested on the ledge of what remains of the corridor. 

Because the entire opposite side of the facility has been destroyed.

There’s still rumbling and crashing, so loud that it’s overwhelming, all that concrete and metal hitting the ground far below, and whatever this huge creature is, it crushed everything with one hand, destroyed the wall that had previously been behind Somnus and all the walls behind that one, and now rain water pours in, soaking the hand and Somnus as the ceiling above them starts to shake and crumble away. An entire half of the towering structure, all torn away like paper.

The lights all flicker off, and Somnus is the only source of light now, silhouetted by this impossibly large being, its single hand so big that only two of its massive fingers can fit side-by-side in the entrance to the corridor. All four guards are scrambling backwards now, and the rain pours harder outside, the ceiling trembling, the cymbals of thunder ringing louder with every footstep Somnus takes forwards. 

Prompto hasn’t been this terrified in a long time. He shouldn’t be, maybe, but Somnus’ eyes are glowing bright white, all of him exuding monstrous power, each step he takes shaking the building right down to its foundations. By the time he’s halfway down the corridor, the guards are all pressed up against the bars of Prompto’s cell, clutching their weapons like they can save them from this. By the time Somnus has nearly reached the four of them, Prompto can feel himself shaking against his bonds. 

Somnus reaches the first of them and snaps his arm out, in a blur of movement, to grab the guard by the throat. 

There’s a second of thick, heavily silence, and the rain seems to dim for just a moment. 

Then, Somnus crushes the guy’s neck in his fist. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Noctis comes back to his own body in a rush, like the jolt when you wake up from a nightmare. Every ache and pain he can feel hits him at once, all of them loud and abrasive and burning, and he feels his knees give out beneath him. Noctis sways for a moment, and then hits the ground and catches himself on his hands.

Everything is too loud. There’s a deep, low rumbling like an earthquake somewhere, and a crumbling, rolling crash far below him, like the sound of a building collapsing. More than any of that, however, there’s a presence weighing down on Noctis’ mind so great that he has to hold back a scream at the pure mass of the thing, pressing down harder and harder with each passing second like it’s trying to dominate him. 

Noctis almost wants to give in to the thing, can feel a foreign pressure growing behind his eyes that it would feel relieving just to submit to. Maybe whatever this foreign entity is, it can take away all this pain - it can take away everything, in fact, from the immediate pain to the loneliness to the hopelessness. All of this. Maybe it can just go away. 

Noctis manages to peek up through his eyelashes and catches Kato’s blue gaze, and that’s the one thing he’s got left, right there. 

He pushes back, hard. The presence resists, like a solid concrete wall sitting on Noctis’ consciousness, and he pushes out at it, screaming in his mind for this thing to  _ leave, _ a sudden sense of almost relieving  _ wrongness _ pushing through the pain and the fatigue to grip Noctis and aid his struggles against the huge weight. Noctis pushes harder and harder, gripping at his head, forehead pressed against the cold floor as he yells into it. He doesn’t want to look up and meet Kato’s gaze again, scared of what he’ll see in those bright, scared eyes. 

_ Let me go,  _ Noctis finds himself screaming, not sure if it’s aloud or just in his head anymore.  _  Let me go, Godsdamnit, let me go. _

And finally, with one last huge push, the presence lifts and subsides.

Everything goes silent then, truly silent. It’s so abrupt that Noctis thinks he might have just died, until he squeezes his eyes open and comes face to face with the grubby floor he’s pressed against. The presence is no longer pushing, not trying to force itself into Noctis anymore, but it lingers. Watching. Waiting. 

Noctis forces himself into motion, pulling himself to his feet with a grunt of pain and staggering once he gets to them but managing to stay up anyway. Blinking to get the dark spots out of his eyes, he glances around and takes in the bodies of the four guards all sprawled out on the ground around him and flinches back, forces himself to look away from them. No time for regrets now, not when he doesn’t even know what’s going on. 

Something huge shifts at the other end of the hallway, and Noctis turns around and stares into the eye of a God. 

The presence from before has torn away the whole other half of the facility, and where there was once a wall, there’s now open, empty space, looking out into the rain and the darkness, and a perilous drop to the ground far below. The huge form of the Archean blocks out the whole sky, towering monstrous and huge over what remains of the destroyed facility, and it’s bent over now to level one single eye with the remains of the hallway, staring at Noctis with his huge pupil burning the colour of magma. 

Noctis is frozen, can see every detail of the Archean’s face - each of the giant’s eyelashes is as long as Noctis’ whole body, his pupil bigger than a car, rainwater running down his face in rivulets like a flood. With every breath the Archean takes, the building trembles. His skin is stone, thrown together like melded shrapnel and rubble, and Noctis knows that if this arcane creature wanted to, it could wipe him and Kato off the face of the earth with barely a twitch of its hand.

Noctis and the Archean stare at each other for an indefinite amount of time, just caught like two different creatures sizing each other up. Enemies in the wild trying to decide which will take the first hit. 

Then, the Titan is gone. 

Noctis falls back against the bars of Kato’s cell, all of his strength leaving him. The world regains clarity - he realises vaguely that his shaking hands are glowing faintly, a bright white that’s almost too white to be real, pure and unsettling. The four bodies on the ground are unmoving, all of them with their necks crushed grotesquely or their heads turned the wrong way horribly. The sky now showing behind where the Archean peered in at them is just starting to lighten, dark storm clouds turning grey with dawn. 

Taking a minute to just  _ breathe,  _ Noctis takes stock. He’s shaking all over, too weak to do much more than hold himself up. He’s scared for a moment that he’s going to slip into stasis, but manages to hold it off. The pain that wracked him before is returning slowly, adrenaline fading, and Noctis realises vaguely that his shirt is soaked with blood. Rain water is starting to trickle down the corridor, and Noctis has to concentrate with every movement he takes just to stay upright. 

So this is what it feels like to summon a God.

Behind Noctis, in the cell, Kato makes a small, pained noise, and all thoughts of Gods and Astrals and the Archean go away. 

Noctis takes about five minutes to get the cell open, first trying to pick the lock with shaking hands before spending a minute trying to convince himself to check the bodies of the guards for keys. When he finally works himself up to it, Noctis finds a set of keys at the hip of the second guard he searches, and then pulls himself up and has to spend another few seconds just standing there and blinking the dark spots out of his vision. 

Inside the cell, it’s small and cramped, Kato strung up with his arms pulled high on either side of him. His prosthetic looks like it’s about to be tugged clean out of its port, and Noctis stumbles around in the dark trying to find the release switch on the mechanism holding his friend up before he finds it, reaching with hands still glowing to flip it. 

Kato crumples down, legs buckling, and Noctis catches him. Both of them hit the floor, clutching one another, and all the things Noctis had wanted to say - that he’s so sorry, that he wishes none of this had happened, that he can explain - fly away. 

Instead, and Noctis will be too embarrassed to admit it later, they hold onto each other, and both of them proceed to cry like babies. 

“I’m so sorry,” Kato gasps out, throat tight and watery, tugging Noctis into his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Noctis chokes on a laugh, or maybe it’s a sob. “Why are you apologising?”

“I- I don’t know-” Kato cries harder. “You summoned a fucking God. You summoned a G-God. Oh my Gods. You summoned a God.”

Noctis pulls back a little and grabs the back of Kato’s neck, presses their foreheads together, sniffling. “Yeah. And- and it was for you.”

Kato’s face crumbles like cracked concrete and the two of them go back to hugging, Kato’s arms so tight around Noctis’ neck that it’s almost crushing, legs all tangled like they’re trying to dock together. 

Kneeling there on the concrete, it’s like everything just descends on them both. Kato burrows into Noctis’ neck and wails, a few words slipping out here and there (mostly  _ sorry  _ and  _ fuck, _ with a couple of  _ Som’s _ thrown in there too). Noctis just lets himself shake out all of the fear, and it feels almost like he’s going to shake out of his own skin but he trusts that Kato would put him back together if he did. The Gods in Noctis’ head are silent.

Outside, the sky is getting lighter, though, and Noctis knows there are going to be dropships here soon. No rest for the wicked. 

When they can finally pull themselves together, the two of them struggle upwards as one, clinging on to one another to stay upright. Head heavy in the crook of Noctis’ neck, Kato pulls them both towards the exit of the cell, and they manage to struggle out towards the end of the hallway, where the Archean’s eye stared in at them barely minutes ago, and both of them stand on the ledge and take in everything. 

The chunk the Archean tore out of the building is so colossal that the top few floors, high above the two of them, don’t even exist anymore, having crumbled into the sea. The rest of the floors, save the bottom few, have all been ripped apart, torn open like the hinge on the front of some monstrous dollhouse. The ground far below is just a mess of rubble, huge chunks of wall and concrete piled metres up and up, and Noctis and Kato just stand right on the edge, holding one another, the world open in front of them, nothing but empty space where the other half of the facility once stood. 

The power the Archean exuded with just one blow is so colossal that it scares Noctis.

Maybe this is what Cor always meant when he would tell Noctis that he had been given a duty by the gods. Maybe this is the kind of thing he intended Noctis to reap upon the world - this pure destruction, a whole monster of a building broken up, four people with their necks all broken and crushed up, and Noctis with no idea of what happened except for the fact that he was the one who did it. Maybe this is was Noctis’ destiny was always meant to be.

_ Would you be proud of this, Marshal? Would you be proud of your fledgling? _

Kato tugs on Noctis’ wrist gently. “C’mon. We can’t stay here.”

And sure enough, silhouetted by the gathering dawn, dark shapes are beginning to appear on the horizon - dropships, flying full-speed to fight whatever just tore their facility clean in half. WIth the shape Noctis and Kato are in, neither of them would stand a chance in a fight, and Noctis knows that there’s only one way to get out of this one.

“I’m going to try to warp us down,” Noctis says, shakily. “Reckon I’ve got enough juice left to do that, at least.”

Kato bites his lip. “Are you sure? Because, no offense, but you j-just summoned a God, man. And I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Technically it isn’t,” Noctis says, “But I’ll explain everything. And I’m fine. I can do this.”

“Okay.” Kato sighs. “Okay, fine.”

Kato reaches into his pocket and digs around for a minute, wincing with the strain on his bruised arms, before pulling out a small pebble and pressing it into the hand that Noctis isn’t using to hold Kato up. The two of them catch each other’s eye for a second, and Noctis feels his lip threaten to tremble again as he takes in the blood on Kato’s face. God knows he didn’t deserve any more scars than he already had.

Kato appears to be studying him, too, biting his lip and furrowing his brow in a sad way. His bright eyes are all bloodshot and bruised, but they’re the most alive thing in this entire wreck of a building. Noctis had thought he could hold himself up, but that look makes his knees tremble enough that he almost goes toppling right back down. 

Noctis clears his throat and looks away, fighting to keep his composure. “Yeah. That should- that should work.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Noctis takes a deep breath and, with the last of his strength, pulls his arm back and throws the pebble out as far into the emptiness as he can get it. 

The pebble soars, out and out, and then arcs, starting to fall. Noctis abruptly feels a rush of deja vu, thinking involuntarily of that one time in the border town, warping off of the roof and running away from Kato that first time, hitting the sand and not being able to let himself look back. Will either of them go back to the way things were now? Noctis doesn’t think he’s able to run away anymore. 

The little rock falls and falls, gathering speed, and just as Noctis can feel that it’s close to the ground, he tightens his grip on Kato and slips out of reality-

-And then slips smoothly back in, both of them hitting the ground running, but this time in the same direction.

**.**

Prompto knows that he isn’t going to be able to run for long. He can feel Som lagging against him, staggering with every step as his knees buckle under his weight. They both landed outside of the gates to the facility, and a few hundred metres out the treeline is welcoming and all Prompto wants to do is collapse in its concealment and pass out. 

They’ve barely reached the treeline when the lights flicker back on in what remains of the facility, a backup generator obviously having been turned on. Somnus shudders to a stop and falls face-first down into the shrubbery, and Prompto drags his prone form a little further in until he finds a little ditch, partially concealed under the ancient roots of one of the taller trees. It provides refuge from the winds, and hopefully concealment, but Prompto is honestly too tired to care much right now. 

Dragging and then tucking himself and Somnus back into the tiny shelter, Prompto pulls Gladio’s jacket off with fumbling fingers and pulls it up over his and Somnus’ bodies, breathing on his shaking hands to try to return warmth to them, curling up against his companion as tightly as Prompto can get his body. Som groans low in the back of his throat and burrows into the jacket, and the two of them press together for warmth and for other reasons, both hardly able to believe that they got out of there alive. 

“I-I can’t believe I managed that,” Somnus says, breathlessly, warm breath on Prompto’s face. “Holy shit.”

“What-” Prompto shivers- “What, the God thing, or the warping?”

“Just- crap. We’re alive.”

“Yeah.”

Eyes hooded with exhaustion, Somnus looks right into Prompto’s eyes and says, “When you- when you called me, I was going to die, Kato.”

“-What?” Kato feels a rush of cold. “What? Were you in d-danger, or?”

“No, like.” Somnus shivers hard, pulling Gladio’s jacket up over his neck. “I wanted to.”

Kato feels his mouth click shut. 

This doesn’t really feel like Somnus. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the relief, but Som would never talk about something like that so freely, would never openly come out like that and day,  _ hey, I wanted to die less than twenty-four hours ago and I only stopped because you called me,  _ and Prompto is so selfishly glad that he did say, because he knows then and there (if there was even any doubt left) that he’s not going to leave this boy’s side again for as long as he lives. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Somnus says quietly, into his neck.

“No- no, no, you’re good, I’m glad you said that.” Prompto swallows around the tightness in his throat. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah.”

“And about the God-summoning thing.”

“Yeah.”

“And about who you are.”

A shuddering, deep breath. Then, “Yeah.”

There’s still rumbling, distant but present. Prompto wonders if the facility is even still going to be standing when they wake up. He realises in the back of his mind that he left his radio there, but can’t muster up enough emotion to care about it.

“Prompto,” Prompto says, into Somnus’ sun-bleached hair. 

“What?”

“Prompto,” Prompto says. “That’s my name. Thought we’ve gotten past that point, by now.”

Somnus shudders. “I’m going to tell you everything, Prompto.”

“I know.”

“I can’t right now.”

“I know.”

“Can I go to sleep, Prompto?”

“Yeah.” Prompto sighs and closes his eyes, immediately feeling the world dull as sleep creeps in. “Yeah, let’s sleep.”

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! remember to leave a comment if you can!


	8. Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the support for this fic has been utterly INCREDIBLE. i love you all   
> enjoy!

******.**

It takes a solid ten hours for Prompto and Somnus to finally drag themselves up and start the long trek back into civilisation. 

While they rest up, Somnus slipping fitfully into and out of sleep and Prompto dozing without much perception of time, the sun slogs its way through the sky above, rays of it shining down from the mottled canopy of trees high above. The storm has passed by midday, the sun breaking through and the remains of rainwater dripping down from the trees to seep into the freshened earth below. 

Across the way, the whirr of incoming dropships and bergs, and the distant by distinct clank of trooping MTs, only seems to grow with time. There’s the occasional brief sweep of the forest, during which Prompto pulls Somnus backwards and the two of them just make themselves as small as possible while the troops pass through, but aside from that, it appears that the imperials seem to think that whatever it was that left their facility in ruins is far away by now. Somnus and Prompto are left undiscovered, and it’s an immense relief. It’s unlikely that either of them would last long in a fight in their state. 

As night creeps in, the pair of them eventually manage to drag themselves out of the ditch they holed up in and start the long trudge away from the ruins of the facility. Both of them know the way, but when they’re approaching the edge of the patch of forestry, Somnus pulls their course to the left. 

“Where are we headed?” Prompto asks, through gritted teeth. Everything aches. 

“I’ve got a place.” Somnus stumbles, and both of them have to scramble to stay standing. “Empire’s probably looking for us at this point. Wouldn’t wanna stay in an inn.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

They push on. Neither of them are in completely dire condition - Prompto is only aching from being tied up for so long, and a little bruised and bloodied from his capture, and Somnus is beat to hell but he’s not bleeding much anymore - but this will be tough. Prompto wonders vaguely if Gladio is worried yet. Probably not; they’re all used to Prompto disappearing. He’s their resident human vanishing act at this point. 

By the time the two of them push out on the other side of the shrubbery, the sounds of machinery and airships are far behind them. It’s eerily silent out here, in the wilderness. The road leading into the facility stretches out away from it, winding through the hills and up into the distance.

Somnus is frowning. “Why wouldn’t they be staking out this side of the forest?”

“I… I dunno. I would’ve thought they would be, too.” Prompto shudders. “Let’s stick close.”

“Was planning on that, yeah.”

Just as they’ve made it a few steps, however, Noctis turns around to face the facility again. Prompto is about to ask what he’s looking at when he turns around and sees it too, and all the breath leaves his lungs. 

The sun is just setting, and the red-orange glow sets the remnants of the facility ablaze with light. The air around the building is thick with dust, stone still crumbling and crashing down to the ground, and the colossal chunk physically carved out of the side of the huge building is so almost unbelievably big that it looks like some huge hand, bigger than a city, has descended from the heavens and crushed the building under its thumb. The sight is unbelievably satisfying.

When the two of them have deemed themselves far enough away from the base, they leave the shadows and stumble up onto the road, following the cracked trail of concrete out towards the mountains. The moon rises in the sky, the last traces of dusk fading on the horizon ahead of them. 

“The two of us, wandering off into the sunset,” Prompto jokes. “So cinematic.”

Somnus huffs. “More like cliche.”

Prompto laughs in the back of his bruised throat. “Hah. I guess so.”

Sneaking a look at Som doesn’t yield hopeful results. The kid is staggering and stumbling with every step, lagging, eyes blank as he stares ahead of him without really focusing. He’s wearing Gladio’s jacket, and the shoulder is soaked with blood - dried, sure, but blood nonetheless. Under that old, bone-deep tan, he looks pale and grey, more sallow than Prompto has ever seen him. 

“Maybe we should take a break,” Prompto says. 

“No- no, it’s fine.” Somnus pants. “It only took me a few hours to get here. I can make it back.”

“Yeah, but, knowing you, you sprinted the whole way here-”

“Hey - I hitchhiked, like, half an hour of it-”

“Som _ nus-” _

“Why were you even in that base?” Somnus asks, to change the subject. “I mean, I know you’ve got all your shifty business, and no disrespect to that, but this one didn’t end so well.”

“Heh. Uh- this one was actually… more of a personal endeavour? It’s…” Prompto winces as he steps on a particularly jagged piece of rock. “Hard to explain. A long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“This- this is coming from you.” Prompto feels a little indignant, or as much as he can feel with the fondness for Somnus still pulsing through him. “At least you know my real name, dude. I’m not the one with all the secrets-- well, I am, but you’ve got your fair share, too.”

“I am going to tell you everything,” Somnus confirms. “When we get back to my place. I just. Uh. I think you’re going to want to be sitting down to hear all of this.”

“That’s… fair, I guess.” Prompto still frowns. “I think it’d be best to tell you my story when we get there, too. Get everything out on the table, then figure out what our plan is.”

“Are we… going to stick together this time?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“It is?”

Prompto laughs, and Somnus flinches hard so he stops and says in a softer voice, “Of course we are.”

**.**

Somnus’ ‘place’ is... well, to put it lightly, it’s a shithole. 

Let it be known that while Prompto has seen the worst the world has to offer and has existed within it for days on end before, and this isn’t quite there, it’s pretty damn close to it. By the time the two of them reach Somnus’ street, they’ve already had to creep past upwards of half a dozen troops of guards, sidle under multiple hanging bodies swaying in the night breeze, and Somnus seems entirely unfazed by it all. Out here in the slums it’s dark and the air smells like gasoline and death, and Prompto isn’t afraid (he doesn’t really have the energy for that) but he won’t deny that he clings onto Som’s hand harder than usual. 

When they eventually reach Somnus’ place, it’s probably about three in the morning, give or take an hour or two. It’s nothing special, not even for this place - just a little hut crushed between two larger buildings, with an upper floor that Somnus mentions as they enter belongs to a family of seven. It’s only one room, just a bed squeezed into the corner and no personal effects, but it looks like heaven right now. 

Somnus turns to look at Prompto in the dark. “I know the place is- uh, well, it’s shit, but. After we stopped talking, things were rough, and I ended up here.”

“Dude, do me a favour?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” Somnus yawns. “I can do that. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Prompto confirms. 

Then, it’s obvious that the bed calls to them too loudly to ignore, and pair of them stagger across the room and flop down onto it in a sprawl of exhausted limbs and pass out. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Somewhere in a hideout further north, a hulking man with a scar on his face sits at a table and transmits to the same frequency over and over again, with no reply. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Prompto wakes up at the crack of dawn with the sun shining right into his eyes through a slat in the wood beside him. He shifts to the side and, for a while, just lies back and takes stock. 

Outside, the world has already woken up, people moving about in the narrow streets outside. It’s hardly jovial out there, the low murmur of conversation and the distant crashing of trooping MTs never far away, and somewhere out there, a child is wailing. It smells like rot, still. Like death. It’s hard to believe that barely more than twenty-four hours ago, Somnus was shrouded in the light of the Archean and the two of them were crouching, broken, on the floor in that facility. The striking, startling reality of all of this hasn’t even started to set in yet. 

Somnus is a heavy weight on Prompto’s chest, face squished against his collarbone. He probably felt him shivering in the night - even now, with a Somnus-shaped blanket, Prompto is still not quite  _ warm  _ per se, toes all numb with cold beneath the ratty sheets and the fingers of his human hand a little blue. Even now, as Prompto watches, Somnus shifts a little closer, and Prompto feels a sharp, obvious squeeze in his chest. 

Maybe, now that they aren’t running for their lives, a little context is mandatory. 

Prompto first saw Somnus from the other side of a crowded marketplace, right down on the Sol border. The kid was about his age, wearing a tank top and a shifty look, and he was tanned dark and his hair was sun-bleached and his eyes were bright blue. He was obviously trying to work himself up to steal an apple or two from a nearby stall, a scrawny, scrappy runaway with his inexperienced fingers twitching at his sides, and he had looked up and met Prompto’s eyes from across the way and.

Prompto has never proclaimed to be one who believes in love at first sight but. Damn. 

So he had fallen head over heels in that moment, yeah, but here’s the thing - Prompto is, and always has been, just a little bit in love with everybody. 

Maybe it’s his screwed-up self worth, or one of his other millions of issues. Prompto isn’t quite sure. But he’s always had a problem with infatuation - when Gladio first took his shirt off in front of Prompto, he swears he nearly fainted, and the first time Aranea smiled at him, Prompto just about died on the spot. He’s relatively used to seeing pretty strangers from across the street and just wanting to run away with them, and he was even more experienced with feeling like this when he was a dumb, young sixteen year old with lots of young, dumb hormones.

So Prompto - young, dumb, but used to knowing what to do to save his own skin - had been completely willing to let this pretty kid pass on by, when the boy had stolen that apple. 

The stall owner had noticed straight away, of course. It was obvious from a glance that this kid had never stolen anything in his life. People had started turning around then, looking at the boy, and he’d sunken back into himself like an Adamantoise with these big, scared blue eyes and Prompto has a bleeding heart, always did have one, and he’s young and dumb and stupid so he ran across to grab the kid and pulled him towards a sidestreet. 

The kid had followed him with barely a second of hesitation, and Prompto had been caught between thinking  _ well, this kid doesn’t know anything about anything,  _ and  _ hand in my hand he’s holding my hand he’s holding my hand when was the last time i had contact with a person he’s really holding my hand holy sh- _

He hopes it wasn’t too obvious at the time that from the moment they got onto that rooftop and Somnus corrected his pronunciation of the word _ touché,  _ Prompto was  _ gone.  _

A very important thing to remember about the whole thing, though, is that Prompto has a very long, very laborious road to walk. He has since he was just a kid, but the road he’s on now is one he chose for himself, and it’s one that he enjoys (and really, it isn’t a terrible road, it’s just a very… fast-paced one). The particular road he’s on right now, and was back in that moment on that rooftop, and will be likely until he dies, is the one he took when Gladio offered it to him all those years ago. A road for a kid of no consequence who’s good at not being noticed. A road for a kid with a chip in his arm which can get him into important places. 

A lonely road, sure, it might have been, but an important one nonetheless. So when Somnus said he had his own road to walk, Prompto agreed that they would meet again and then decided that no, they probably wouldn’t. 

God knows that went down the pan fast. 

Three years later, here Prompto is - with his best friend, who even in all these years never asked him to leave (nobody else has ever refrained from doing that). His best friend, who is breathing against his neck and has their legs tangled up. His best friend, who summoned the motherfucking Archean yesterday.

It’s safe to say that yeah, Prompto might have fallen for Somnus that day because he was attractive, but all of that’s out of the window now that Prompto knows that this kid has the power of a god at his fingertips, and now that he’s seen Somnus break a man’s neck in his fist. 

In the present moment, however, that does not change the fact that Somnus is waking up slowly, huffing a breath into Prompto’s neck and slowly peeling open his eyes, and those baby blues are  _ oh so very- _

Nope. 

Prompto blinks hard. Nope. No being a disaster today - there are more important things to worry about than a dumb crush. 

“Morning,” Somnus says, quietly. Then, “What time ‘sit?”

“Uh. Sometime mid-morning?” Prompto coughs. “I don’t know. Don’t think we have to worry about being quiet, though. People are up and out on the streets.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Somnus extracts himself from Prompto and sits up. “Are you alright?”

Prompto takes stock for a moment. “Yeah- well. Aching, but I’ll live. You?”

Somnus smiles at him, and. Damn. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The two of them spend a little while getting cleaned up. It’s not awkward, per se, but it’s quiet, like both of them know what’s coming. They dress each other’s wounds, Prompto stitching the deep gash in Som’s shoulder and Som in return bandaging thew few more nasty cuts Prompto acquired back there. Neither of them talks much. 

By the time they’re both sitting back on the tiny bed, the sun has risen far enough that it no longer seeps through the gaps in the wood of the hut. The day is getting warmer still, but Prompto is still cold as all hell, and takes back Gladio’s jacket only to end up with it in his lap as he picks at the dried blood crusted on the leather. 

“So,” Somnus says, thin legs crossed in front of him. 

“So.”

“I’ll start,” Somnus says.

“Okay.”

“I was…” Somnus clears his throat. “I don’t remember much of when I was a kid. I was brought up in a hideout underground, way out in the Sol ruins. Never saw much, or met many people. My childhood was pretty… pretty shit, actually. Would’ve died out there if I didn’t have my dads.”

“Were they revolutionaries?”

“Guess you could say that.” Somnus sighs. “I don’t remember anything from before that time, but I remember them both always telling me, even when I was just a kid, that there were people further north who wanted to kill me. People who would give anything to get me. It… scared the shit out of me, actually. More than was probably healthy. But they were telling the truth, so.”

Somnus has curled up a little at this point, shoulders all hunchy and tense, like a spring wound up tight. Prompto reaches across to squeeze his shoulder until he loosens up again. 

“Sorry,” Som says. “I. Uh. I’ve only ever told two people all of this, and neither of them were the most… neither of them took it well, and they hurt me, and I’ve been running for a long time.”

Prompto squeezes harder. “I’m not leaving for anything.”

“I know.” Somnus takes a deep breath and pushes on. “Neither of my dads were too explicit about it. I grew up with half-truths a lot, and code names, and secrets. I was allowed outside a lot, but never to roam far. I grew up mostly in the sun, but it didn’t feel like it, really. I guess the only things I ever knew for sure, without a doubt, were that my father had been somebody important, and that the weird metal people would kill me if they found out who I was, and that- and that the Gods, they had a calling laid out for me.”

The last one makes Prompto freeze. “I guess- I guess you meant it when you said you were gifted, huh?”

“Yeah, I… might have been understating it,” Somnus says.

And then it clicks. 

“You’re Noctis,” Prompto says, like an idiot, without even stopping to consider having some tact about it. “You’re Noctis. You’re the prince.”

Somnus has gone very still. 

“Holy shit,” Prompto says, like a moron. 

Somnus says nothing. 

“Who-” 

And it’s sinking in, now, and it all makes sense but only one question comes to Prompto’s mind in that moment- 

“Who the fuck hurt you for that?”

All of the tension ebbs out of Somnus’- no,  _ Noctis’ _ \- body all at once and he slumps forwards, pushing his face into his hands. “Oh, Gods, you have no idea.”

Prompto is still trying to process. “No, wait, wait, seriously, I’m- you told people and they hurt you? Did they give you that scar? And- oh holy shit, mother of Bahamut, you’ve been out running for your life for the last three years with no hope of rescue, oh fuck- I’m a  _ moron,  _ how did I not realise-”

Noctis stares up at him from between his fingers. “You believe me?”

“Of course I- what kind of question is that, dude?! I watched you  _ summon  _ a  _ God!” _

Noctis blinks. “You… did.”

“There were-” Prompto clenches his fists in Gladio’s jacket. “There were people who didn’t believe you?”

“I thought you were going to become one of them,” Noctis admits, quietly. 

“Holy crap,” Prompto says again. “Fucking-”

“I know.”

“Does this mean I have to call you, like, ‘your highness’ now?” Prompto says weakly. “Because you know I love you, Som, but that’s a little far.”

Somnus laughs - a little, wet huff, but there nonetheless. “If you did I would literally kill you.”

“Noted.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Noctis straightens up fully, eyes big and a little wet. The scar on his face seems more deep-set than ever, and Prompto hasn’t felt this sad in a long time, knowing that whoever put it there might have been doing it because they didn’t believe that Noctis - Noctis, of all people - could possibly be telling the truth. 

“You really believe me?” Noctis asks quietly. “And, you’re okay with it? Because I’ve managed to piss off a lot of people in the last three years  _ without  _ telling them who I am, so chances are this is going to be difficult.”

“I’m an MT,” Prompto says. 

Noctis freezes, and stares. 

“Well, not technically, but basically.” Prompto is rushing out the words now. “Uh. Yeah. I was- I was made, in a facility like the one we broke out of. Not born. So jot that down. They kept me there as a kid and trained me until I got a message out to a revolutionary that I was still human somewhere deep down and that I had information and he came and rescued me, and the first time I saw him my training got the best of me and a tried to attack the guy, so, uh, not that down, too.”

“Prompto…”

“I’ve killed people before, too. Mostly adults - and mostly bad people - but a lot of the time they didn’t deserve it,” Prompto lists off, in his swing now. “I’ve given pretty much everything at some point. I’ve lived on the streets and on the road and on the run. I’ve given up my arm, and my leg, and my heart. I’ve sold my skills, I’ve sold my spoils, I’ve sold my body - at this point I might as well have sold my soul.”

“Prom-”

“There is a very short list of things left that I wouldn’t do,” Prompto pushes on, “And, uh, hurting you is on there, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a pretty rotten person, if you can even call me a person, but that never made any of the people I love leave me, so I’ll say it again - if you’re still okay with having me around, I’m not leaving you for anything.”

Silence fills the little hut. Prompto would be worrying about whether Noctis is going to push him out now, tell him that he doesn’t ever want to see him again, except he’s not worried about that at all - because he senses that Noctis is probably worried about the same thing. 

“We’re both very fucked up,” Noctis says, eventually. “Like. Incredibly messed up.”

“Yeah. Now that you mention it.”

“And I think we can-” Noctis sniffs hard and wipes his nose. “I think we can make this work.”

Prompto grins at his friend. “I think so, too.”

**.**

**.**

**.**

Gladio throws the radio down onto the table in frustration. Fourty-eight hours since that kid went off the map, and twenty-four hours since the word got through that an MT factory near Altissia was left in literal rubble with no explanation.  _Like something huge came along and tore a hole chunk out of it, ripped it in half down the middle, the whole building,_ their scout had said.

Gladio knows Prompto well enough by this point to know that any and all trouble seems to follow him, and even somebody as good at running as that kid can't run forever. 

"Somebody alert the big guy," Gladio orders a grunt at a nearby table, as he stands up stretches. "I think our little boy's gotten himself into some shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to leave a comment if you can! they mean so so much to me <3


	9. It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT FUCK  
> i'm a very busy person and with writing my own novel, christmas, work, my dnd campaign and a million others things this took a WHILE. lots of rewrites and lots of uncertainty, so if you enjoy it please let me know!  
> enjoy!

******.**

“Okay,” Prompto says, “Game plan.”

The afternoon is a little cloudier than the morning was, light no longer as strong where it slips through the cracks in the walls of Noctis’ little home. The two of them sit opposite one another on the bed, cross-legged. Upstairs, there’s the faint sound of a child crying. 

“I don’t have any contacts,” Noctis says, “Not like I used to, anyway. Aside from my old boss and a few regulars from before, and none of them would be willing to help.”

“Damnitt,” Prompto says. “And my radio got left behind at the base, and all my frequencies were punched into there, so I’ve only got a few people memorised and most of them are in Lucis.”

“Is there nobody willing to lend a hand from there? Or travel down?”

“Oh-” Prompto hums. “I mean, sure, theoretically. But it’s a lot easier to get further north than it is to travel back down south. I reckon we’re safest travelling by foot to get to the Tenebraen fringe - we’ll sneak over the border, and then I’ll see if anybody’s close.”

“Fair enough.” Noctis fiddles with the hem of his jacket in a nervous way. “And you’re sure the New Wave will believe you? Because I, uh, don’t have the best experiences with them.”

Prompto winces. “Uh. Yeah, I think so. They’re not the most trusting people, especially not in these times, but they’ll take my word for it. Plus, they’re bound to have heard about what happened at the facility by now, and if you can do something like you did back there again, they’d be insane to not believe you.”

Noctis stares down at his hands. “I… I’m not sure if I can?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, uh. Nobody really trained me to do that stuff. Or magic at all, really, aside from warping. I would have been able to do more stuff, but my father closed off the Armiger when he died, and I never got the full training I would have if he was here.”

“That was the first time that happened?”

“Yeah.” Noctis laughs uncomfortably. “Never summoned a God before.”

“How did it… feel?” Prompto asks. “Like, do you think you can do it again? Not now, of course, but like, when you need to.”

“Honestly? I don’t remember too well.” Noctis bites his lip. “Uh, you were hurt, and I was distracted, I guess. It wasn’t really like I… triggered it? More like it just sort of. Hit me. Everything went white and then when I came too there were dead bodies everywhere and the Titan had destroyed half of the base.”

“And you don’t know anything about… y’know.” Prompto gestures vaguely. “All of that?”

“No.” Noctis sighs. “Both of my caretakers growing up were more worried about teaching me how to stay alive than explaining the whole… God thing.”

“Okay. Okay, we can still work with that,” Prompto says. “I’m sure they’ll believe me. They’ll believe  _ you.” _

Noctis scowls. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because - look, I don’t know who hurt you, out of all of the New Wave, and it’s not… surprising, really, that somebody did. The New Wave are my allies but a lot of them are damaged, and they don’t really trust people easily, and it’s super rare to come across somebody in this world who hasn’t been hurt before. But whoever it was, if they try again, we run, okay?”

Noctis stares. “We run?”

“Yeah.” Prompto makes a dismissive noise that somewhat fails to sound dismissive at all, really. “The New Wave might be my allies, and there are people among them who I really care about, but there are plenty of other places where we’d be accepted if we ran. Trust me. I know a lot of people. We’ll be okay.”

Noctis swallows. “And you’d seriously run away from these people just for… for me?”

Prompto closes his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, Noctis. You still don’t get it.”

(Noctis absolutely doesn’t.)

**.**

The next morning, they set off. 

For the first few hours, they just walk. Noctis is still aching, and figures that Prompto must be too, though neither of them complains about it. The road away from the town Noctis has been living in for the last few months is mercifully flat, and the sun is shining enough that, though the fingers on his hand are still blueish, Prompto takes his jacket off at some point and ties it around his waist.

“What’s up with that?” Noctis asks, kicking a rock absentmindedly out of their path.

“What’s up with what?”

“You’re like.” Noctis gestures vaguely. “All cold, all the time. Is it an MT thing?”

“Kind of. It’s hard to explain.” Prompto tugs on his jacket sleeves to tighten it around his waist. “I was… made... in that facility - the one, y’know, you. Uh. Broke.”

“I remember, yeah,” Noctis replies dryly.

“Okay, okay, but you know what I mean- anyway. It’s the furthest southward MT facility they have, and it creates MTs specfically for- well. Hunting you.”

Noctis pauses. “What?”

“I mean, like- okay.” Prompto takes a deep breath. “The Empire is pretty huge at this point, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“And some MTs need to be deployed in the far north, like in Niflheim and northern Lucis, but other types of MT-” Prompto gesticulates at his general person- “Like me, were made to be deployed way further south, like in Accordo and, namely, Solheim, to look for you. And because Niflheim is so cold and dark and stuff, and Solheim and Accordo are so much more humid, they construct MTs differently depending on where they’re supposed to be deployed, so they can stop malfunctions caused by the heat.”

“So… you were made, in that facility, to search for me?”

“Well- yeah, basically.” Prompto winces. “Y’know, it’s common knowledge that the prince was smuggled out into Solheim and all, and- well, yeah. I was made for hot weather. That’s why I get so cold all the time.

Noctis is silent for a few moments. A few bits of gravel, dislodged from the old rod beneath them, skitter away as he kicks them. “Oh.”

“That was- that was kind of a stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?” Prompto says anxiously. “Uh, sorry. Swear I won’t. Y’know. Turn on you in your sleep.”

“No, don’t worry,” Noctis says absently, mind elsewhere. “It’s fine.”

_ That pile of MT corpses you threw out into the sand. One of them could have been Prompto.  _

_ One of the MTs that killed Clarus could have been Prompto. _

“Noctis?”

Noctis blinks hard, and then turns to meet Prompto’s eyes. “How old were you when you got out of there?”

“How old was I?” Prompto winces. “Uh, pretty young. Ten? Eleven? I’d only just been given my ports and stuff, and I managed to sneak out and steal a radio off of a guard, and then I kept it in my pod until I worked up the nerve to call the frequency stored up on it. Apparently that guard was either a traitor or just very stupid - either way, he had the frequency of a member of a resistance movement saved into his radio, and the guy asked me for a password and I told him that I was an MT - a pretty terrible one, but an MT anyway - and that I had information and that I didn’t want to die.”

“And that worked?”

Prompto snorts. “Hah, no. Definitely not. He hung up on me - but I kept the radio, and I called again after a really… rough training session. It- it wasn’t pretty, but I was bleeding, and in a lot of pain, and I pretty much just begged for somebody to come and get me out of here before I turned into one of them, and it took a while but eventually this softie of a dude came to get me out of there.”

“And-” Noctis recalls the conversation from the previous day. “And you attacked him?”

“Yeah, basically.” Prompto fingers the leather of his jacket. “My training kicked in, and when I saw him I just saw red. Came back to myself slung over his shoulder as he ran away from the facility.”

“Did you manage to hurt him?”

“Oh, definitely not. This was a proper New Wave big cheese - I gave him a black eye, but that’s all. Then, we got back to his hideout and I told him everything I knew, and apologised over and over and over for attacking him, and we stuck together from there on out. Eventually found a doctor who figured out how to, uh, rewire me - there was a chip in the back of my neck, and they had to dig it out. Wasn’t fun, but my new friend was there with me, so I got by.”

“Who was he? The New Wave guy, I mean.”

“Oh, Gladio.” Prompto unwraps his jacket from around his waist and puts it back on, the sleeves still too long for his arms, and it’s kind of like he sinks into a little bit. “He’s… great. Gladio’s great. New Wave, born and raised - bit of an asshole sometimes, and he’s got one hell of an impulse control problem, but he’s been there for me ever since we met. He was seventeen when he came to get me. I always used to call him Dadio, when I learned what a joke was.”

“Used to?” Noctis intones. 

“Okay, fine, I still do- still, it fits. Older brother or dad or whatever - either way, he’s been there for me for forever now.”

“So, after he rescued you and got the chip out- what? You just...joined the New Wave? Like that?”

“Heh, not exactly.” Prompto sighs. “That’s where it got a little complicated. I ran off at some point, being a little idiot with a mind older than his body, and got caught up in some… shady stuff. To say the least. Lost my arm, ended up on the streets, had to do a lot of… terrible things to survive. Real awful shit, y’know? And, uh, I guess at some point I fell in with Highwind’s people in the north - and that’s even more complicated- look, the short story is, I ended up working for a lot of different groups like the New Wave, and I never really stayed with any of them for long, and by the time I made my way back to the New Wave as a messenger I was- what? Fifteen? Young, but old enough that they agreed to take me on. And I’ve been bouncing between groups, working jobs that I think will help the cause, ever since.”

“Wow,” Noctis says.

“Yeah,” Prompto replies. 

Noctis wants to say a lot of things, but what comes out is, “And none of them ever kept you with them? Did you not want to settle down?”

Prompto looks taken aback. “Uh. I don’t know. I guess… I wouldn’t have minded settling down? Would have worked fine with me, being somebody like Gladio, staying with one group. But, uh, I was a stealthy kid, I guess, and I didn’t have much going for me up here-” Prompto gestures to his head- “In terms of like, strategising and leadership and stuff. I wasn’t strong, either, really, without the chip. So one scouting job led to another and soon I know everybody from Accordo to Niflheim and I’m a useful kid, good at what I did, and… I don’t know. I never ended up staying with anybody.”

“Oh,” Noctis says, “Fuck, that… that sucks.” 

“It’s fine! Honestly, dude, don’t give me that look, I’m alright,” Prompto says, tripping over a rock. “I’m fine about it, really. And plus, it means I know a bunch of people, and I have a bunch of friends! Not all of them are quite as good as you and Gladio and stuff, but I’m not alone. I’m fine.”

Noctis looks at the road and just nods, mind elsewhere. He can’t imagine what that would be like, not even a little bit - growing up in that cold, concrete facility with no light or warmth, and then finally finding somebody but losing them just as quick, and never being able to stay with anybody you come to like because they don’t want you there, because they think you would be more useful elsewhere. It sounds… awful, frankly. Noctis might have not had the easiest upbringing, nor the most approachable caretakers - what with all the prophecy talk - but at least he had people who wanted him around. 

“Quit feeling sorry for me, dude,” Prompto says, suddenly sounding more serious. “Seriously.”

“I don’t… I don’t feel sorry for you,” Noctis says, and he’s an absolute liar and it’s very obvious. “It just sounds pretty rough, is all. Not being able to stay with people.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all had it rough. You included.” Prompto says, a little tetchy, but then he grins across at him and the air lightens. “Gotta stay positive, right? I’ll find somebody who wants me to stick around eventually, and you’ll find… whatever it is you’re looking for eventually, after all the prophecy bullshit is over and done with. We’ll both find what we’re searching for.”

“We will?”

“Yeah.” Prompto reaches across and squeezes Noctis’ arm with his flesh hand. “Or maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll find something way better than that.”

**.**

They walk for the rest of the day, passing by a town that Noctis insists they avoid. Prompto agrees without asking questions - he learned a long time ago that there are places where you can’t show your face unless you have a death wish, and that uncomfortable questions can wait. By the time they settle down for the night, in a motel on the side of the road, they’re both worn out and exhausted, and the sun has long-since set. Both of them walk particularly quickly when the motel comes into view. Danger hangs on the air, thick and explicit. 

“Won’t be easy,” Prompto says as they wait at the front desk, “Avoiding towns ‘n stuff. More daemons out here.”

“Sorry,” Noctis says.

Prompto startles. “No! No, that wasn’t a thing against you, that was like- trust me, it’s fine. Honestly. There’s places I have to avoid too, and it’ll be difficult but we’ll manage it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m not leaving you for anything.”

“Yeah. Okay, yeah, okay.”

Under the florescent lights of the reception area, Noctis’ tanned skin looks sallow and unhealthy, and the stark overhead lights cast dark shadows under his eyes. Prompto knows that he probably looks the same way - wearing Noctis’ other sweatshirt to keep out the cold, as well as his own clothes and Gladio’s jacket. Quite literally bundled up like some dumb burrito. 

The receptionist finally reappears from the back, holding the key to their room, and doesn’t seem to pay any mind to the odd pair that they make - Noctis, still with the veins in his eyes and the tips of his fingers holding the faint remnants of that strange white glow if you look hard enough, and Prompto all bundled up despite the fact that it’s not even cold enough for the average person to be shivering. Prompto thinks about them - the two of them, how mismatched they are - and decides that he likes the picture they make. 

By the time they get into their room, Prompto is dead on his feet, and flops face-first down onto the covers as soon as they’re both inside the door and the curtains are drawn, the door locked. “Ugh. I think I pulled every single muscle.”

“Every single muscle?”

“Yep. All of them. You’re going to have to carry me the rest of the way now.”

“Oh, joy,” Noctis says, but he doesn’t sound angry at all, because he’s dumb and also a bad liar. 

It’s peaceful. Noctis potters around - takes off his boots and stashes his knife under his pillow, makes sure the windows are latched closed, splashes his face with water in the bathroom - and Prompto gathers the sense of presence to take off his boots and the jacket, and then curls up under the quilt and the ratty spare blanket in the wardrobe, and dozes.

At some point, Noctis climbs into bed - or maybe that’s the wrong word, since he just lies on top of the covers on his side, facing Prompto. The two of them have an impromptu staring match before Noctis gives in and loses, and turns the lights off to the sound of Prompto’s laughter. 

It’s peaceful. It’s good.

Prompto falls asleep with a knife under his pillow, too. 

**.**

The next morning comes too quickly. 

Noctis wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept at all, really, and rolls over to watch for a little while as Prompto snoozes, face buried in the blankets. He’s still shivering just a little, but Noctis feels hot and clammy, and gets up to take a cold shower and scrub the grime from his skin, changing his bandages and stealing the shitty free toothbrush by the sink to take as a spare. Then, he makes himself turn and look into the mirror, just to check.

He was still glowing ever so faintly last night, the last traces of the Archean’s power leeching from him, but all traces of the godlike presence are gone now. Noctis ignores the fact that he doesn’t really recognise the guy in the mirror, even now that his eyes are normal and his fingertips aren’t glowing, and looks away maybe a little too quickly. 

By the time Noctis reenters the main room, Prompto is awake, rumaging around in his pack. He looks up as Noctis enters. 

“Hey. You alright?” Noctis asks. “It got kinda cold in the night.”

“Yeah. I’m alright, though!” Prompto grins. “I slept like a rock.”

“Me too.”

“Today’s gonna be rough as well, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve headed up to the Tenebrae border a few times before - it’s not a nice journey, but-” Noctis sits down on the bed beside Prompto and heaves his own pack into his lap- “It won’t be long before we’re over the border.”

“That’s the spirit!” Prompto stands up. “C’mon - I gotta wash up, and then let’s get out of here.”

“Let me know if you need help changing your bandages. Or whatever.”

Prompto shoots him dual finger guns from around the bathroom door. “Gotcha!”

As the door shuts and then the shower starts running, Noctis flops back onto the covers beside Prompto’s pack and wonders, briefly, what he did to deserve getting in cahoots with this disastrous, brilliant sunshine kid. 

Then, Prompto rushes back around the door, half-naked and with wet hair, and says, “Shit, forgot to disconnect my arm,  _ balls, _ the last time I did that I ended up causing a power outage and Nyx yelled at me for half an hour, sorry Noctis-”

Covering his eyes and laughing until his stomach aches, Noctis reconsiders the ‘brilliant’ part. 

By the time Prompto is done showering, having disconnected and reconnected his arm successfully, the sun is fully up, and blinding. They don’t exactly throw open the curtains, but Noctis can tell Prompto is bouncy and energetic, ready to get out there. He doesn’t exactly feel the same, not having the same optimistic disposition as his friend, but he figures, as he follows Prompto out of the door and they set off, that this is the most hopeful he’s been in years at this point. 

Being on the road is comfortable. Noctis thinks he could get used to it. He walks on Prompto’s left side, mostly at Prompto’s insistence so he can reach across and ruffle up Noctis’ hair or grab his arm or any number of other little tics Prompto indulges in. They keep a good pace as the day heats up, Noctis’ sweatshirt tied around Prompto’s waist and Prompto’s pack slung over Noctis’ shoulder alongside his own. The sun rises, firm and bright, and they don’t pass anybody on the desolate backroads they tred.

They stop for a break as the sun crests in a field of what looks like chilli peppers, little green plants sprouting in rows through the dry dirt. They don’t exactly have much to eat - a few apples Noctis snagged before they left his hometown left from yesterday, and some bread, and Prompto has some dried meat in a packet very, very deep in the depths of his pack - but they make a feast of it, laying it all out across their crossed legs and digging in. Prompto even takes off his jacket, basking in the sun for a few minutes in just his tank top and pants. His prosthetic glints in the sunlight. 

_ I’m hopeful,  _ Noctis wants to say, looking at Prompto.  _ I’m hopeful and I’m happy and not even a week ago I was ready to die, and it’s all because of you, and I don’t ever want to go back to how things were. _

“We’re going to have to snag some food tonight, if we hit a town,” Noctis says, instead. 

“Apples?” Prompto suggests. “Old time’s sake.”

“If it means that much to you.”

“Hey! I feel like the only one here who treasures our friendship right now.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Noct!”

Noctis laughs for a moment, and then settles down and sighs, tearing the last little piece of bread into tiny chunks in his hand. “Uh. I don’t know. I do.”

“You do what?”

“Treasure our. Uh. Friendship.”

“Oh.”

“You’re… pretty great.”

Prompto puts a hand on his chest and  _ squeaks, _ the asshole. “Is this a proposal?”

The atmosphere is now solidly broken.

“Fuck you!” Noctis stands up, shoving the last apple back into his pack. “You’re a heathen, and I hate you.”

“And I love you too,” Prompto says, exaggerated and joking, but he’s smiling small and genuine when Noctis looks across at him, cheeks flush with happiness, and, yeah - they’re both gonna be fine. 

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! please leave a comment if you can.


	10. Ode To a Caged Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait!

 

The rest of the day passes too quickly, the sun arcing over and past them and setting in the distance without event. At some point, the two of them forsake chatting for silence, tense and ready to run as the shadows grow at the sides of the road. Night sets in quickly, the world turning sepia. Somewhere in the distance, there’s movement, constant and oppressive - not coming any closer but near nonetheless. Waiting, and watching. 

No words need to be exchanged as they get closer to the cluster of lights on the horizon. Night is drawing in, the air thick with tension between them, and Prompto and Noctis stick close as they approach the town. At some point they both started hunching, walking a little quieter with lighter feet and faster heartbeats, and by the time the nearby town comes into full view, they’ve both gone into survival mode. 

As they two of them pass by their first little house, on the outskirts, Noctis leans down and whispers under his breath, “We should find a motel, quick.”

“Agreed. You know anybody here?”

“No, I don’t think so - but I don’t like this. You?”

“No, but always better to be safe.”

“Agreed.”

Further into the town, it’s lighter - there are more houses, and a few rusty streetlamps here and there shining spotty orange light down into the dirt. People are few and far between out on the streets, but there are a few bars here and there that seem to be making good business. The roads are cracked and worn, pavements pockmarked with age, and the few houses there are closer to the center of the town are worn down and suffering the toll of time. For all intents and purposes, it’s a completely normal town. 

There’s only one thing off about the place.

MTs are stationed at every streetcorner and the entrance to every bar. They patrol in twos and threes down every alleyway and under every streetlamp, clanking loud and abrasive through the dirt, and Noctis can see a few stationed on rooftops and at windows. The town square just down the main road is  _ teaming  _ with them, metal bodies moving all jerky and unnatural, and as one, once the square comes into view ahead, Noctis and Prompto look at each other and then turn on their heel and start walking back towards the outskirts. 

“Fuck,” Prompto says. “Oh, we’re  _ fucked.” _

Noctis doesn’t answer. When Prompto grabs his hand, he squeezes back and doesn’t let go.

The two of them gradually pick up speed, walking back down the road and away from the square. When Noctis risks a glance over his shoulder, he can see the head of one MT turned towards them, watching them with blank, inhuman holes for eyes. It’s watching, but it doesn’t seem to be following, and its rifle stays holstered at its side. 

Noctis turns back towards the road. “I think we’re okay.”

“Okay.” Prompto squeezes tighter. 

By the time the two of them have reached the outskirts of the town again, they’ve both resigned themselves to sleeping rough for the night. There are MTs  _ everywhere _ , even a few patrolling the outside of the town. It goes without saying that there’s a distinct reason for the increase in security, and Noctis figures that every town in Accordo is probably suffering along with this one. 

(It’s readily disconcerting to imagine the face under every suit of armour being Prompto’s. Noctis tries and fails to put that image out of his mind, and squeezes Prompto’s hand harder in his own. Like if he squeezes hard enough, he can keep it there forever.)

They eventually settle in an abandoned shell of a house a mile or so out of the centre, tucked together on the floor a few metres from the torn, curled wreck of a bedframe in the loft. Bits of the roof above them are torn away, stars blinking through the gaps in the dark void of ceiling, and Prompto layers up and shakes, hard enough that Noctis thinks he might shake out of his own body. Noctis hovers nearby, not quite sure what to do. Sleep doesn’t come easily. 

Prompto jolts awake at some point in the night, breathing heavily - he doesn’t scream, or cry, or anything, just sort of lies peacefully one second and the next he’s awake and hollow breaths are rattling through his chest, too loud in the silence, in and out and in again.

“Prom?” Noctis asks, at some point. The blackness all around them is still and all-encompassing. “You alright?”

“Som?”

“It’s-” Noctis swallows, sits up, hands curling into the dust. “Noctis. It’s Noctis. You’re fine.”

“I’m fine?”

“You’re fine.”

Prompto takes a deep, sharp breath, like when you think of something to say in a conversation and heave in air all at once, and then lets it out in a rush. “Oh.”

“Prom?”

Prompto rolls over to look up at him. “I’m fine.”

“...Alright.”

Prompto rolls over fully, and the two of them press together there, cold and uncomfortable. Then, they shake together.

**.**

The next morning rushes in too quickly, the both of them sticky and stiff from the uncomfortable night. Prompto clears the house, checking without much success for supplies, and eventually, when they feel they can’t put it off much longer, the pair of them set off into the town, hoods up, stuck to one another’s sides. It’s less than ideal - very, very far from ideal in fact - but they need food and water if they’re going to make it through the next stretch of wasteland. 

The town has the same air as a poorly-attended funeral as they approach, the two of them the only non-mourners. People traverse the streets as hollow-eyed as the undead, all looking a tad shell-shocked, and MTs still reside at every juncture, their empty red eyes staring. Prompto and Noctis both keep their hoods up, Prompto’s bandana tugged up over the bottom half of his scarred face. The two of them look about the same as all the rest of the townsfolk - worn, haggard and shady-eyed - but Prompto can’t help but feel like they stick out like a sore thumb. Eyes, human and non-human, follow them up the street as they pass. 

“Pretty sure we can’t hang around for long.”

“Agreed.” Prompto presses in a little. “Marketplace should be in the square. Let’s just get this over with.”

Being in the marketplace brings with it an odd sense of deja vu. There’s a vendor selling apples across the way as the two of them skirt the shadows, but they’re all a little rotten, and nobody looks to be buying. Maybe just because the guy manning the stall looks so miserable, Noctis pockets a few of the less bruised apples and tosses him some change. Neither of them can seem to muster a smile. 

On the other side of the street, Prompto haggles with a woman selling stale bread for a while before managing to wrangle a few more deformed-looking loaves. When they meet again, near the entrance to the square, Prompto tells Noctis, “Close your eyes.”

“Okay?” Noctis obeys.

“Hands out.”

“Alright…”

Something light, soft and small lands in Noctis’ hands. He opens his eyes to see that it’s a scrap of cloth, from a spread set up by a woman selling what looks like drapes and embroidered cloth on the floor beside an MT station. A bandana - black, like Prompto’s, with six little suns sewn along one edge.

“She said it’s meant to be, like, a cut for a napkin,” Prompto explains. “But nobody’s buying. Bargain, after a little persuasion.”

“Prompto… Thank you,” Noctis says, oddly touched. “Promise I’ll find you a new one when we get someplace better. Since yours looks about a million years old.”

Noctis can’t see Prompto’s lower face, but he can feel the grin, like sunshine through a glass pane. “It’s a deal.”

Suddenly, there’s a commotion on the other side of the square - somebody yells out, and there’s a scuffle. Vendors freeze up and heads snap around. People stop and stare.

Noctis hadn’t noticed it before, but past the stalls, in front of an old, grey building opposite them is a little raised platform, maybe four feet off the ground, with rickety wooden stairs leading up to it. There are four MTs stationed on it already, hands on their rifles, and there are a fifth and sixth MT leading- no,  _ dragging- _ a person out of the grey building in chains, out onto the platform.The person is struggling wildly, bucking and yelling and fighting with all their might, blonde hair bedraggled. There must be something impeding their speech - a gag, maybe, or rope used like a bit - but either way, even though they aren’t yelling, they sure are trying to. 

“This is-” Noctis swallows. 

“An execution. Yeah.” Prompto looks like he’s going to be sick. “Oh fuck. I hate these things. I can’t watch- let’s go, come on-”

But Noctis is bolted in place like his muscles have all seized up, unable to drag his eyes away. He can feel his hands go numb as his sides, and knows that they must be shaking. He’s seen death before,  _ killed  _ before, but something about this - an execution, clean and impersonal and broadcasted for the whole town to see while this person fights so hard to stay alive - seems worse than all of that. 

“Oh, god, they’ve blocked the exits.” Prompto grabs Noctis by the arm and tugs him to the side, both of them pressed together in the shadows. 

Out on the platform, the prisoner manages to break free for a second and sprints to jump from the platform, arms chained behind their back, but two more of the MTs grapple them back into captivity a few seconds later, forcing them down onto their knees facing the square. 

Noctis’ feet start moving before he’s given them permission to. One second he’s standing beside Prompto, and the next he’s stepping through the shadows, edging along and hugging the wall to avoid catching the attention of the MTs. He can’t make out any of the person’s features - they’re wearing dark clothing that’s loose enough to obscure their body shape, and the gag he can now make out that’s forced between their teeth hides the shape of their face. The most he can make out is a mop of curly blonde hair. 

One of the MTs presses the barrel of its gun to that bright blonde hair, and then Noctis starts running. 

It takes half a dozen strides before people start to turn around, step to the side - there are stares, momentary murmurs, and then yelling. Out of the corner of his eye, Noctis catches sight of an MT on a rooftop swing his rifle from his shoulder and position it, the barrel a speck pointing right at Noctis. Chaos erupts, people running for the exits to escape being caught in the crossfire. There is metal clanking and movement everywhere - MT units rushing in from all sides, people running for exits, screams and confusion as the MTs move in. The paper-thin stasis broken. Somewhere behind Noctis, Prompto shouts his name.

Suddenly, just as the first bullets start throwing up gravel at Noctis’ heels, he feels the ground start to tremble - once, twice, a third time - in time with his running footsteps, the earth itself shaking, dust rising from the dilapidated cobblestone. Stalls wobble and collapse - windows shatter in surrounding buildings, MTs jutter and stagnate. Noctis blinks and catches a brief glimpse past the platform he’s running towards, past the town and past the horizon. The Archean stares back at him, fire in its eyes, even as it runs in tandem with him. Lightning crashes somewhere, in tandem with the fierce tempo of Noctis’ heartbeat.

Five of the six MTs on the platform leap down to meet Noctis as he reaches the platform, the sixth holding down the prisoner. Noctis tries to pull out his knife and fumbles for a second, fingers tight and shaking with adrenaline. Then, a whirlwind as he always is, Prompto is there with him, plunging his knife into one of the MT’s eye sockets, stood firm at Noctis’ back. 

“This is a really-” Prompto yanks the knife from the sparking MT corpse.  _ “-really _ stupid idea, Noctis.”

“I know,” Noctis says, and takes a swing at one of the others just as it raises its gun. 

On any other day, against five close-range MTs, neither of them would have a chance - but the ground is still shaking, the world still falling apart around them, and the MTs are jerky and disoriented. The platform is crumbling as well, one of the supports already cracked and broken. People are still screaming. Gunshots still ringing out, but its obvious the snipers can’t get a good shot on them either. Noctis sticks to Prompto like he’s the eye of a hurricane, and he can’t let Prompto be sucked out into the chaotic vortex. 

They barely manage to fight their way through the units to the platform, and Prompto just reaches up to pull out the ankle of the final MT from the foot of the platform. It falls backwards onto the wood, pinwheeling and jerking, and Noctis, by this point on the platform, kicks it off. When it hits the cobblestone, it goes still. 

Finally, Noctis turns his attention to the prisoner, who is wide-eyed and looks overwhelmed. “You with the New Wave?”

They turn their dirt-smudged face to Noctis, the pupils of their big green eyes dilated with fear and adrenaline, and shake their head frantically, still gagged. Then, they are abruptly on their feet, and they sweep a leg out to catch Noctis in the ribs. 

Noctis goes down, winded and groaning, and the prisoner runs for it, sprinting across the square and flying for the exit, arms still chained. When they reach a wooden stall support jutting out of the ground, Noctis watches them frantically catch their handcuff chain on it and yank forwards - it takes a few tries, and it must seriously cut up their forearms, but they manage it after a second, the chain snapping. Then, like a daffodil swirling down a drain, they’re gone, out of the mouth of the square and out of sight. 

Noctis blinks and he’s abruptly back into the action - Prompto is there, helping him up and yelling, and there are yet more MTs closing in. The ground is still trembling, dust still dislodging itself from buildings all around them, and shattered glass rains down all around them like dust in a sandstorm.  

“A warp would be helpful right about now, buddy!” 

“Yeah, I know-” Noctis fishes around desperately in his pockets until his hands close around a pebble. “Alright-”

The throw isn’t quite what it could be, but both of them watch with baited breath as the pebble sails over them, over the buildings closing off the square and past the MTs. Then, Noctis takes a deep breath and lets both of them faze out into nothingness, Prompto’s hand sliding into his just as they fall out into a void of nothing-

-The world comes back and both of them hit something hard and fall - five, ten feet. The impact is hard and sudden and there’s a moment of confusion and disorientation before Noctis registers that the pebble hit a wall on the inside of the alleyway they’re now in, about twelve feet above ground. 

Prompto groans. “Oh, fuck.”

“Anything broken?”

_ “Everything’s _ broken.”

“Alright, you’re fine-” Noctis tries to sit up and it’s a struggle, every part of him aching with the impact. In the distance, there is still shaking, still the odd gunshot. Screams and chaos, but muted now.

But they don’t have long. 

“Come on.” Noctis just about manages to haul himself to his feet, glancing left and right. It’s a narrow little sidestreet, tucked away in the shadows, but the MTs will soon be looking everywhere for them. “We have to move.”

On the ground and cradling what looks like a horribly bruised arm but doesn’t seem broken, Prompto spits out a mouthful of gravel and then tugs his bandana up again, accepting Noctis’ helping hand to stand. “Oh, that was a bad decision.”

“I think our whole friendship has been one big bad decision.”

“And here’s to many more to come!” Prompto says, picking a little piece of rock out from where it’s buried itself in his cheek. “Alright, let’s go.”

They don’t run, mostly because Noctis is still shaking out of his skin and Prompto looks bruised up enough already, but they do make haste. Just on the other side of the town, there’s a copse of trees leading up to a distant cluster of hills further up the road, and the pair of them stay fully inside of the treeline through the day as bergs and airships roar overhead towards the town, red lights blinking. 

They both walk without speaking for about an hour before, unceremoniously, Prompto finds a passable tree log and plops down on it.

“Sit down, Som. We’re taking a break.”

Noctis doesn’t argue, sitting against a tree across from Prompto. “How’s your arm?”

“Hurts, but it’s not broken. Chances are I’ll have a cool bruise, through.”

“You landed on it, right? Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. And one of the MTs got me in the gut, but there’s nothing broken. You?”

“A few scrapes, but nothing major.” Noctis narrows his eyes. “And that prisoner got me in the ribs.”

“Oh, fuck. I completely forgot about that. They ran away, right?”

“Yeah.”

Prompto thinks for a moment, drumming the fingers of his metal hand on the tree bark. “Well, I’ve definitely never seen them before, at least as far as I can see. Chances are it was just some small-town rebel who got in a bit too much trouble. Maybe one of Aranea’s, but I doubt it, unless she would have sent somebody down to see what’s up with what happened at the facility.”

“Would it not have been just. Y’know. Some criminal?”

“Not if they executed them like that. Out in the square, in front of everybody? That’s got to be a rebel of some kind. Crimes against the state and all that.”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“Well, either way, I’m glad she got out.” Prompto slides off of the log to sit down against it on the floor. “Though that was a really, really dumb thing to do.”

“Oh, I know.” Noctis sighs. “My feet just… moved, before I gave them permission. And then the Archean was just- just there, in my head, spurring me on. It’s… confusing. And I don’t like him being there.”

“Is he still there now?” Prompto asks cautiously. “Like, can you feel him there? Does he talk to you?”

“He’s not around anymore, more just in the moment. And- I honestly don’t know. It’s all so weird and confusing and new.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Prompto unfolds one of his long legs to nudge Noctis’ knee with his toe. “Whatever the guy wants, I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, without believing it. “I just… I don’t like the idea of this  _ thing  _ being a part of how I fight, how I live. Just… there, hanging around until I start fighting or I get angry, or it feels like stepping in. It’s strange. And nobody, uh, gave me any lessons on how I’m meant to be doing this.”

“And it’s scary.”

“Yeah.” Noctis unfolds his legs and tangles them with Prompto’s. “Yeah.”

Prompto sighs, a little thoughtful. “I guess all I can say is that you’ve survived a lot worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Look at all the stuff we’ve done! It’s been… it’s been a lot. For both of us. Surviving out here. Against the odds. Like something out of a comic book. I’m sure this is just your next… extended character arc, or something. And we both get a happy ending eventually.”

_ Or this thing kills me,  _ Noctis wants to say, but instead he finds himself nodding. “Whatever you say.”

“And you’ve got your badass sidekick along for the ride,” Prompto adds jovially. “Dashing, charming, a crack shot with a pistol.”

“Who? I don’t see him anywhere. Can you give me directions?”

“You wound me, Noctis,” Prompto says sadly. “I’m hurt.”

“But you’re going to stick around anyway.”

“I am. You’re not getting rid of me for anything.”

Noctis only realises that the look on his face is soft and fond and goofy after it’s been there upwards of ten seconds, and by then Prompto has looked away, yawning and making a show of stretching out his injured arm over his head. He makes quick work of forcing the look away. 

“Anyway,” Prompto says, “I’ve made a decision.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Your battery’s still got some juice, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Noctis says. 

“Well, I’ve decided I want to call Gladio. Just to, uh, you know. Let him know that I’m alive, and how I am and stuff. Not too much information about the whole situation and where we are and all, but just so he knows I’m alive and well.”

“Oh… yeah, that does sound like a plan.” Noctis starts to feel increasingly concerned. “Won’t he be really worried by now? With everything that’s happened?”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Prompto coughs. “But I’ve, uh, been distracted for a while. And, uh, I’ve scared him worse than this before. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

(Noctis soon finds out that Gladio is very much Not Fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please remember to comment! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please leave a comment if you can!


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